Forging the Heart's Desire
by AlianaKensington
Summary: Alyssa Wulfe is a young Breton striving to save her new-found home. She finds refuge with a new family in 'the City of Thieves'. But even with a handsome man with a deep brogue vying for her attentions, she finds herself drawn to the surly local blacksmith...
1. Chapter 1

Forging the Heart's Desire

Summary: Alyssa Wulfe is a young Breton striving to save a land that is not her own. She finds refuge with a new family in 'the City of Thieves'. But even with a handsome man with a deep brogue vying for her attention, she finds herself drawn to the surly local blacksmith…

Key Characters: Alyssa Wulfe, Balimund, Brynjolf

Chapter 1

Dawn's light rose over the trees, slowly climbing up Alyssa's body. When the warm glow reached her eyes, she sighed with disappointment, scrunching her eyes closed tighter.

'Just a few more minutes…' She mentally whimpered.

The forest sounds picked up with the sunrise, forcing her to resign herself to the morning. Stretching on the bedroll, Alyssa's eyes blinked painfully open. Inhaling the fresh pine air, she rose and looked at the horizon. Riften was only an hour or two away; she would arrive just as the shops opened.

'Good thing, too' she thought, 'I need to lighten my pack.'

She could use some better arrows, and maybe have her bow restrung. She picked up the item in question to closer examine it. The ebony bow gleamed eerily in the sunshine. It was her greatest find in that ruin after she defeated the first dragon priest. The mask was great, but the minute she opened that bulky chest behind the throne, she almost squealed with delight; very unbefitting behavior for the Dovahkiin. But more than anything, she _had_ to have her armor fixed.

After packing everything away, she mounted her dark mare and headed east. A fox ambled by, roused from its resting place. It wasn't long before the city walls came into view.

Alyssa loved Riften. Sure, it didn't have the shiniest reputation, but that was part of the appeal. An underappreciated city with hidden beauty and potential. She had also met her 'family' here.

The Thieves' Guild was as good a family as any for an out-of-place Breton with a knack for stealth, and the Thief Stone had blessed her thoroughly. She had continued to prove herself time and again. What had solidified her place with the guild was how she handled 'the Mercer Incident'. After Nocturnal had appointed her Chosen to the status of Nightingales, things only got better for everyone in the guild. Their luck had been restored, and all was right with the world… well, dragons withstanding.

"I'm working on that, too…" she murmured aloud.

The Rift was always cold; Skyrim territories could hardly escape the northern icy winds, even one fortunate enough to rest near the border of Cyrodiil. But mornings in the woods outside of Riften were crisp and hazy, soft sunlight dancing on the mist.

The two guards standing watch at the gate shifted anxiously at the approach of the dark horse and its rider. It was a moment before they recognized the young Breton, but their anxiety only increased. Several months ago, they had attempted to pocket a little extra gold for a few rounds at the Bunk House by implementing a 'visitor's tax'. However, the honey-tongued woman not only left their pockets empty, but gave them her own shakedown.

"Good morning, gentlemen!" Alyssa Wulfe dismounted with far too much energy and joy.

Neither guard made to greet her, only shifting in agitation and grumbling. Alyssa chuckled and shook her head, auburn hair coming alive in the early morning light, despite being plaited.

She was attractive, to be sure, with creamy skin and curves to rival a Nord woman. But it was hard to lust after dusky blue eyes that glittered with mischief and petal-pink lips twisted up in a wry grin at their expense.

She hefted her pack over her shoulder and pushed through the gate, ignoring the 'Bloody thief' muttered by one of Riften's finest. It didn't bother her; after all, how could she be angry when it was true?

Glancing towards the market, the Breton briefly reflected on that fateful day when she met a certain brogue-tongued red head who introduced her to her new life and family. They had saved her- well, except for that time she almost died; no thanks to that rotten Fray, may he rest in pieces in Oblivion- but if it hadn't been for the Thieves' Guild, she surely would have starved to death in those early days.

Honeyside was quiet and dark. Though Alyssa Wulfe was revered throughout many of the major cities, Laila Law-Giver had failed to honor her with the title of Thane or a housecarl to keep her home warm. No doubt Laila was suspicious of Alyssa and her involvement with the guild, and would have gladly denied her the property if the city hadn't been desperate for the coin.

Still, Alyssa loved Riften best of all the cities, despite the icy Jarl and the notoriety spread amongst the elite. This was her new home, and no one would drive her from it.

After putting away the treasures she intended to keep, the woman unceremoniously plopped into the nearest chair. She began to nibble a sweet roll absent-mindedly. It wasn't long before she was thinking of the first home she ever knew back in Wayrest, and why she had left it.

"_Tell me of my family." An adolescent Breton sat in a chair as an ancient-looking Dunmer woman plaited her hair; dark, bony fingers gently twisting and tying. The hands stopped for a moment, then resumed with a sad sigh._

"_I will try, _Titta mine_…" The Womer looked thoughtful, her already wrinkled brow creasing._

"_I was a little girl, even by Dunmer standards when I first saw her," Alyssa held her breath. She had heard this story many times, but some days the story was shorter or longer, depending on her guardian's memory. "She was tall, with golden hair and sad eyes. And her belly was round with child." _

"_Where was the father?" Alyssa interrupted impatiently. _

"_I am not sure. My mother said to my father that she believed the Nord woman had arrived alone because the father had died." This part of the story was usually vague, but the Dunmer's mind seemed especially sharp this evening._

_Sondhesa Sethri had been awed by the Nord, who was very kind and gentle, despite her heritage. And when the babe had been born, she had immediately liked the looks of the dark-haired boy with piercing blue eyes. They grew up together, she at a much slower rate of course. Their friendship had passed through to the next generations and led to her assimilation into the family as an honorary sister, then aunt, and eventually, grandmother. Sandhesa felt as much a part of Alyssa's lineage, loving her as if she were her own. And with the early death of the Breton child's parents, she felt compelled to care for her._

"_I have reflected, and I believe he died in the Oblivion Crisis. It had ended just weeks before Aliana's arrival. She never spoke of him. I believe she was in mourning until the day of her death. But she was a good, strong mother, as I have heard Nord women are. And she needed to be," She chuckled, thinking of her long passed friend, "for Nitram was a handful."_

_Alyssa was enraptured, eyes glassy and distant, trying to imagine people she had thought of often. It was hard not knowing who you were. Sondhesa was a good mother, though, and tried so hard to please her._

"_I also believe he was Imperial."_

_Alyssa attempted to turn in the chair to look at Sondhesa, which resulted in her giving a hiss of pain at the unintentional tug to her hair. The Dunmer chuckled warmly, turning the child to face forward again._

"_Why do you believe that?"_

"_That boy grew to have such a silver tongue. He could talk his way out of any trouble. Which was good, because he was in it often." Alyssa could hear affection in her tone. "Also, as he grew, his mere presence seemed to command authority. He was a good man. A strong leader, as are all his descendants." Finishing the braid, Sondhesa gave a gentle squeeze to the 12-year-old, which was returned with great force. "Careful, child. By Azura, you'll have great strength when you are grown."_

"_Does that mean my family hails from Cyrodiil?" Alyssa hoped to find out about her lineage when she was old enough to leave home. But with little to go on, it seemed impossible. Her lineage matron appeared in Wayrest out of nowhere, with no family ties to the land._

_The Womer looked thoughtful again. The candlelight gleamed off her silvery-white hair, making her appear almost magical. Despite being an elf, Sondhesa refused to use magic, and had therefore sentenced herself to a shorter life by mer standards._

_Resigned, the old elf turned away and shuffled towards a chest in the corner of the room. She returned shortly with a small wooden box._

"_I had hoped to wait until you were of age, but… well, now is as good a time as any."_

_She placed the box in the girl's lap. "It belonged to your father's family. He wished you to have it when… "She stopped short, unable to finish. It was to be given to his daughter on her wedding day by him. Of course, that could never happen now._

_Wide-eyed, the Breton girl gingerly lifted the lid. Inside laid a few weathered and frail letters, bound with string. There were a couple of jewels and pieces of jewelry, which attested to the trust the family had in the ancient Dunmer woman. _

_One ring in particular caught the girl's attention: a silver band with a large ruby. The ring hummed with magic, even after many years passing it whilst in the box. Alyssa picked it up for a closer look. She was surprised to find the image of a dragon within the stone. She looked up at her guardian, waiting for consent. Sondhesa nodded once, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She almost wept for the girl's loss. These trinkets were all that remained of a once proud family line._

_Alyssa carefully slid the ring on her finger. It was big; not only was the ring intended for an adult, but it clearly belonged to a man. The moment the band went past her knuckle, a rush of warmth and energy surged through her body, causing the child to gasp as if surfacing from water after being too long under. She shivered, trying to comprehend what she was feeling. As if to answer her, a disembodied voice in the back of her mind rumbled a single word:_

'FUS.'

_Alyssa quickly tore the ring from her finger and tossed it at the box as if it had burned her._

"_Child, what is it?" Sondhesa anxiously reached for her._

"_I… don't know…"_

She knew now. That ring, which now occupied her finger (with the help of a little binding) held a power that protected and strengthened any wearer who possessed the blood and soul of a dragon. Dragonborn. Thanks to that fateful day in Helgen, she had to give up her pursuit of finding her family and instead save the world. If Sondhesa had told her that not only would Alyssa take on dragons, but _win_, she wouldn't have known whether to laugh or call a healer. It was moments like this that she really missed her adoptive mother.

Sighing, Alyssa dusted the crumbs from her hands and rose from the chair. She had to have her Nightingale armor looked at. Her last draugr experience had left it worn and in desperate need of mending. She was hoping Asbjorn could fix it. She would drop it off and go shopping. And thanks to that same draugr experience, she had plenty of coin to do so without implementing a five-finger fee amendment.

* * *

Thank you for taking the time to read my work. If you have questions or comments, I would enjoy your correspondence.

Disclaimer: I do not own Elder Scrolls or any works By Bethesda and Zenimax.


	2. Chapter 2

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 2

Balimund awoke before the sunlight had the chance to filter through his window. Despite the long journey from Windhelm to Riften the day before, the smith never seemed able to let the sun rise before him. At least, not without the assistance of several bottles of mead.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed. He exhaled and tiredly ran his hands over his face, smoothing the thick moustache he was so proud of.

The past few weeks had been grueling. Ulfric Stormcloak was gathering his men to take back their homeland. The Empire had proven time and again that they didn't give a damn about the Nords or their beliefs; why should Skyrim back such spineless tyrants?

Balimund and other smiths who supported the rebellion had been called to the Palace of Kings to discuss the tall order of clothing and arming the sons and daughters of Skyrim. After they had finally figured out where to get the much needed supplies and who would craft which pieces, they began the task. They worked in long shifts; the moment one was too tired to go on, another took his place. When they had finally exhausted their resources, Gelmar Stone-Fist had allowed them to return home. Balimund couldn't think of a time he had missed the sight of that thug-riddled city more.

His forge had no doubt suffered in his absence. 'No disrespect to Asbjorn.' He thought, looking at said man who was still blissfully unaware of the dawn's arrival, snoring softly.

Asbjorn had come a long way from the day Balimund had snatched him from the clutches of Grelod the Kind. He was naturally talented and dutiful; no better apprentice could be asked for. He was glad to know that the forge would be in good hands when his time came. 'Which will be sooner than later, if Ulfric has his way.' Balimund thought wryly. He felt worn and old, despite only seeing forty two seasons.

Splashing his face with freezing water from a basin, the smith walked over to the oblivious young Nord. He slapped his foot, knocking it off the bed and startling the man awake.

"Up, boy. We have work to do."

"Wha… oh, Balimund. Morning." Asbjorn sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I bet you're glad to be back."

Balimund had arrived late the night before and stayed awake long enough to mutter a greeting to the apprentice before falling into his bed. Even riding in the carriage had left him drained, and that was on top of all the work he'd done for the true High King.

"What have we got? Any orders?" Balimund grabbed a sweet roll and tore into it. It was a bit stale, but that never stopped him from enjoying the little icing vessels. They were his favorite, but he'd never say so; pastries didn't exactly scream 'manly'.

"We had a few that I took care of on my own," Asbjorn almost preened.

"Good man."

"But there was one that I couldn't figure out to save my own life. Thought I should leave it for you." Here the Nord rose and walked to the table they kept weapons and armor awaiting service. He turned and tossed a dark bundle at Balimund, who had anticipated the apprentice's actions. Ah, youth.

Balimund examined the pitch black armor. Shimmering eerily, it was clearly imbued with magic. He wasn't the biggest fan of enchanted armor, but he knew a thing or two about working with it. This particular set seemed vaguely familiar. Something he had read about? Despite being the son of a burly sword smith, Balimund's mother had made sure that her boy would be well-read.

"What in Oblivion is it made from?" Asbjorn rubbed the back of his shorn head anxiously. Something clicked in Balimund's mind. He moved to his book shelf and grabbed a particularly old tome. After a few minutes of flipping and scanning, he gave a grunt of confirmation.

"Oblivion isn't far off."

The apprentice looked frightened. Balimund smirked. "I mean the armor. It is Daedric, but it isn't Dremora." A few more flips of pages, and he nodded.

"Right," he sighed, "we need Void salts."

"Void salts?" Asbjorn asked incredulous.

"Aye. You see how the light has no effect on the armor? It stays in shadow." To emphasize his point, he held the bundle near a candle. Even though the armor was hard and smooth, the flame didn't reflect off it at all.

"This armor is from the Void, or close to it."

"Well, then that is all for you, Forge Master." The apprentice held his hands up defensively.

Balimund eyed the light armor wearily. "Who dropped this off?"

"Oh, uh… Alyssa. Alyssa Wulfe. She's an adventurer, and a damn good one from what I hear around town. Dealt with a lot of big baddies." Asbjorn grinned, thinking about the Breton woman. "Svana says she's great. Even helped her deal with her aunt."

Svana Far-Shield was a tavern girl over at the Bunk House, and a local favorite with the men in town. But she only had eyes for the Fire-Tamer. Her aunt Haelga owned the House, and worked the girl like a slave. Despite her relations, Svana was kind and affectionate. Asbjorn knew a good woman when he saw one, and if he was smart he'd snatch her up from the marital market.

"Hmm." Balimund slipped his apron on, heading for the door. When this Alyssa showed up, he would just have to tell her that if she wanted him to repair her strange armor, she would have to retrieve the salts.

Stepping into the brisk air, he warily eyed the forge. It seemed even weaker than the last time he'd been home. The embers flickered sickly. He ran his hands through his hair. He needed fire salts, and fast. He had practically begged that hag on the water to place an order, but she claimed it was too much trouble to track them down. Frustrated, he grabbed an iron sword that needed tempering.

The market was beginning to fill up with the usual merchants and stall hoverers. Balimund was well into hammering while Asbjorn worked the forge, crafting a few daggers for quick sale. Both had failed to hear the Breton woman approaching. She stepped into Asbjorn's line of vision and cleared her throat.

Unable to hear her over the hammering and hissing of the smithy, the apprentice continued on. Alyssa walked around and placed herself in front of the unfamiliar man shaping a sword. He was most definitely a Nord: Tall, bulking and fair-haired. The force with which he brought down the hammer on the yielding steel was great. She admired his stern concentration; this was an expert at work.

Balimund felt a shadow over him. He briefly glanced up, only to look back up and stare, halting mid-swing.

By Talos. Large dusky eyes atop fine cheek bones bore into him expectantly. Her long auburn hair was plaited, the braid hanging over one shoulder. Plump, pink lips turned up into a friendly smile. He had to restrain his eyes from sweeping over the rest of her body.

"Good morning." Her voice was warm, yet assertive. Not that it need be; those lips were enough to command his attention. She was Breton, but with something else lying beneath, albeit subtle.

Mouth suddenly dry, Balimund cleared his throat and regained his composure.

"Morning. Come to see Balimund perform miracles with steel, eh?" He must've rattled off that line hundreds of times to onlookers, but he couldn't help but feel just a little sheepish saying it to the pretty woman- er, girl.

Her eyebrow rose briefly, but the smile remained. Her gaze dropped to the sword, examining his handiwork.

"Impressive. The detail on the handle is exquisite. You must be a master at your craft."

Damn it if that didn't make his day. 'Must've talked to Ungrien a time or two.' Balimund thought wryly. He began to wonder if her tongue actually did taste like honey before mentally chasing the inappropriate thoughts away.

"You must be Alyssa." He confirmed this by looking back at Asbjorn, who'd stopped working at the sight of her, walking over to join them. "Ah, good morning, Alyssa!"

"Hello, Asbjorn. It's been a long time. How is Svana?" Alyssa asked, hoping that the little stunt she performed on Haelga hadn't come back on the sweet girl.

"Very well, thanks to you." His eyes gleamed with mischief, failing to let Balimund in on the joke.

"Good. I've come to inquire after my armor. Is it ready?" She asked hopeful.

"I'm afraid I can't help you." Her head whipped back to face the older smith. Had her reputation already proceeded her with this man? Asbjorn hadn't minded about working on her weapons, but perhaps this Balimund wasn't willing to help a thief.

"At least, not unless you have Void Salts lying around."

Alyssa blinked, confused. "What?"

He carefully laid the sword down and wiped his hands on a rag nearby. "I am a master of my craft, but I'm afraid I don't usually work with Daedric armor. I'll need the salts in order to fix it. That is something you'll have to provide."

The girl's eyes lit up, seeming to realize something. "Of course! I apologize, Balimund."

His name on her lips- which he couldn't seem to stop looking at- made him shift, trying to distract himself from the sudden jolt of pleasure it caused.

"I will return in a few days with what you need." She turned to walk away, giving him a great view of her leather-clad backside. He had figured Breton women all took after their Elven ancestors, with lithe and frail limbs. But this girl was toned and curvy. Very curvy. Perhaps she had Nord in her? And if not- shaking his head in order to clear it, his eyes fell on the forge.

"Wait."

Alyssa turned back, eyes curious. The smith nodded towards his forge. "This here's the greatest forge in Skyrim. It burns hotter than even the Skyforge. The reason is because I use Fire salts."

Alyssa walked back and stood before the forge, feeling the heat. Strange, it didn't seem very hot. Her eyebrow quirked at him. He sighed, understanding her thoughts.

"At least, it was. The salts are almost gone. I hear you are… very capable. If you were to retrieve 10 Fire salts, I would be grateful. And, I would pay you for your trouble."

"I would be happy to." She gifted him with another smile. Gods, what was it about this girl? She had him feeling like a whelp looking to rut. He shifted again, focusing on the task at hand.

"I'm afraid it won't be easy. I have tried the apothecaries. It seems the best way to get them is to harvest them. They're… they come from Fire Atronachs."

Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, is that all?" She asked cheekily.

He chuckled. "Like I said, I will pay you for your trouble."

She bowed dramatically. "I will do my very best. However, I believe I will need an extension on time. How about… a week or so?"

Balimund almost balked, but remembered Asbjorn's praises of the adventurer.

"That will be fine. Now, if you're in need of armor-"

"Oh, I should be fine. The Nightingale armament is my favorite, but I have one or two other choices."

"Very well. Good luck to you, Alyssa."

This must have been funny, because she laughed. "I am counting on it!" Before he could comprehend her meaning, she left. He tried. He really tried not to follow her with his eyes.

He shook his head again. He needed to keep his lust in check. She was a client. Balimund didn't normally mix business and pleasure, though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't considering breaking that rule. He was a red-blooded Nord, with the same needs as the next one. He'd even enjoyed Haelga's company before. But this girl seemed too innocent for that.

A sobering thought hit him: Alyssa couldn't have been much older than the apprentice, and he was about twenty years his junior. Sighing, Balimund grabbed the sword and hammered with a bit more effort. Best to just put her out of his head. At least until she returned. Then he'd do the job, give her the armor, and that'd be it.

Something she said finally clicked in his mind.

"Nightingale?"


	3. Chapter 3

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 3

Two Weeks.

The woman had been gone for two bloody weeks. Balimund ran his hand over his face anxiously. He said he wouldn't think of her. But did he stop? Of course not. Instead he tortured himself with images of her broken body lying somewhere in a forest. Gods, had he sent her on a suicide quest? Asbjorn said that she could handle herself, but it wasn't like she was off to pick mountain flowers.

And people died from that, too.

The smith was sitting at a table on the far side of the Bunk House. Asbjorn was upstairs doing who knows what with Svana. Nursing his third bottle of mead, he tiredly flipped through the dark blue book he had picked up from a Khajiit caravan outside the city. It had been a long shot, but the cat man actually had a volume of _Nightingales: Fact or Fiction? _Ever since the Breton had said the word, he couldn't stop thinking that he'd heard it somewhere before. Perusing the pages, he had learned more than he wanted to know.

Balimund had hoped that Alyssa just found the armor somewhere in a cave, but the book said otherwise. No one recovered this armament; it was given to them. By Nocturnal.

The Daedric Prince- or was it princess?- of shadows and patron god- or was it goddess?- of thieves, appointed guardians to watch over her sanctuary. What was worse was that those chosen had to give their souls in exchange for the perks of servitude. Now he hoped she'd killed one of these fools and raided their armor.

Haelga sauntered up to him, placing a dainty hand on his shoulder. "Well hello, Balie. You've been gone far too long." she cooed, leaning flush against his back.

Haelga was a follower of Dibella, the goddess of beauty and lust. The Nord woman suited well as a worshiper, with golden hair and soft pale skin. Her face was painted attractively, and the blue corset dress she wore left little to the imagination. Where most people prayed with their lips, Haelga prayed with her entire body.

"I'm glad you're here tonight, Balie. It's been a long time since I enjoyed the _pleasure _of your company." she said none too subtly.

Balimund knew first hand what the Nord woman was capable of. Any other night he might have taken her up on her offer, but at the moment all he could think about was dusky blue eyes that glittered with mischief.

"Haelga, can I ask you something?"

She smiled seductively, wrapping her arms around his neck. " What is it, Love?" She whispered, twirling a lock of the smith's hair.

"What do you know about Alyssa Wulfe?"

Haelga stiffened, then released Balimund and uttered a sound of disgust. "And _why_ would you want to know about that worthless thief?"

"Thief?" Balimund could feel his heart sink. Not that. Anything but that. But paired with his new-found knowledge, it all clicked into place.

"That's right. She's one of the Thieves' Guild toadies. She even gave _me _a shakedown!" Here the Dibella disciple pouted for dramatic effect.

"That can't be." The girl had seemed so sweet and innocent. Then again, most conspirators worth their weight in gold could appear any way they wanted. Still, he didn't want to believe it.

"And why not? Just ask Bersi, and Keerava and Talen-Jei! She got them, too!" She whipped around to sit across from him. The woman knew well enough that he would check with the others. His heart seemed to sink further into his chest. It felt like he had been betrayed. If it was all true, then that was that. No matter how pretty the girl was, he would not tolerate a thief. Though it was hard to picture the Breton woman as a treacherous cut-throat.

'Looks can be deceiving.' He thought bitterly. Thieves didn't care who they hurt, so long as they got what they wanted.

Haelga had began ranting, but Balimund didn't hear any of it. He rose from the table and headed out the door, straight for the Bee and Barb.

* * *

Early the next morning, Alyssa slipped through the city gates. She was a little worn, but she had been worse before. She headed towards the market, forgoing a stop at her house to refresh and drop off her items. She was too excited! She couldn't wait to see the look on the smith's face when she presented him with her Void Salts _and_ the 10 Fire Salts he needed for his forge.

Alyssa enjoyed helping people far more than ripping them off. She had only ever taken out of need in the beginning, and later to help the Guild. She would only steal from those who wouldn't miss it. In fact, the Guild was great about only taking contracts and jobs that involved lightening the pockets of those who had plenty to spare and from those whose gains were ill-gotten.

It was far more satisfying to have people look at her with appreciation than with sneers. Her journey as a hero had given her a taste for the honest life. She hadn't done much thievery since the Guild had recovered. She only ever went when the job was too dangerous. Alyssa would never risk her family members unnecessarily.

She arrived in the market, oblivious to the hustle and noise around her. She spotted Balimund hammering something small on the anvil. Her blood began to heat up, and it wasn't from the bag of Fire Salts hanging from her hip. She wondered what it would be like to be swept up in a hug by his large, toned arms. She shook her head. What a silly thought. Still, he might actually do it after she gave him the salts.

The Fire Atronachs had been interesting. Once she had been clued in on where to find them by mages at the College of Winterhold, she had immediately set out in pursuit. Taking the creatures on had been intense at times, but her Frost Shout had made quick work of them.

The conjuring mages on the other hand, had been pissed about the loss of their fiery thralls. She laughed, knowing the smith would not only have to repair her Nightingale armor, but her glass armor as well. A brilliant racket if there ever was one. But she knew Balimund hadn't set her up. He was too good for that. It was easy to tell that this smith was an honest, hard-working Nord.

As if he could feel eyes on him, the smith looked up. She practically skipped to him, smiling broadly. But her smile and step began to falter the closer she got to him. He looked mad… really mad.

Balimund had felt her before he had seen her. He immediately locked eyes with hers. She looked so sweet and happy. That smile could have brought him to his knees, but all he could think about was what Bersi and Keerava had said last night.

Haelga hadn't lied. The others confirmed her story with their own tales of woe. Keerava practically hissed at the mention of the Breton girl's name. Her husband had agreed, though out of earshot of his new bride, the Argonian had amended that Alyssa had later come through for him when he needed flawless Amethysts for a wedding ring to his beloved. The smith asked the lizard man if he thought they might be stolen, but Talen-Jei shook his head. Said he had checked with the list of stolen goods for all the holds, and the stones weren't among the missing items.

Still, one good deed did not outweigh many evils. After leaving the Barb, Balimund sought out the proprietor of the Pawned Prawn. Bersi Honey-Hand had also said that the girl had come to him to collect 'protection money'. She didn't even get the chance to threaten him; after hearing what happened to the others, the man had the gold out and ready. Balimund had heard enough.

"Hello." Alyssa said cautiously, bringing Balimund back to the present.

"I should have known." the man practically growled.

"What?" She looked genuinely confused. Damn her!

Balimund tossed the Nightingale armor at Alyssa, who caught it awkwardly, barely avoiding it hitting her in the face. Too shocked to retaliate, the woman stood there while the smith let her have it.

"So not only are you a thief, but a Daedra worshipper too?" It was more an accusation than a question. "I barely tolerate your kind in my country, let alone my city." Balimund retrieved his hammer and returned to working on a dagger. "Get out of my sight."

When she just stood there, he looked back up, ready to shout at her to get lost, when he stopped short. He saw a flash of something akin to pain in her eyes before she replaced it with a mask of indifference. She gave a small, stoic bow of her head, uttering no words of anger or defense. Unable to look at her anymore, he focused back on the dagger, hammering out- well, nothing really.

A moment later, an apothecary satchel was placed next to his anvil by small, trembling hands. Balimund didn't move, but stared at the bag in confusion. He heard her footsteps fade into the noise of the market. After a minute, he slowly set his hammer down and looked up. She was nowhere to be seen.

He lifted the satchel. Why would she leave the Void salts when he had clearly refused to repair her armor? A great warmth flowed to his hands from the bag. Balimund gulped, realization hitting him. The smith opened the bag, hoping that he was wrong, but knowing full well that he wasn't.

He sighed. There in the satchel, staring him accusingly in the face, were at least 10 Fire Salts.

"Damn."


	4. Chapter 4

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 4

Alyssa was moping.

There was no other word for it. She had perched herself on her bed, pillow elevated so she could lean against the headboard. In the last twenty or so hours, she had got up to use the privy and eat when her stomach protested loud enough. Otherwise, she was there. Moping.

When sent on quests, the Dragonborn took each task seriously. She gave her best effort in order to get the job done. But this time she had really looked forward to the look on the rugged smith's face when she would give him with the salts he needed.

Wait, rugged? Where had that come from?

If she was very honest with herself, not only would she admit that Balimund was rugged, but also quite handsome. She had always admired strength. And not just physical, brute strength, but also a strong mind and will. All of which the master smith seemed to have in spades. It showed in his manner, his humor, his…

Well, at least until yesterday. She sighed, reliving the incident for the hundredth time. Someone had clued him in on her profession. After that, he couldn't stand to have her near him. His words had hurt her more than they should have. She hardly knew the man, so why did her heart feel so heavy?

Despite how he had reacted, she didn't blame him. He appeared to be an honest man, and men of honor don't suffer thieves. Or Daedra worshipers.

'But you didn't have a choice!' A part of her argued. 'You are good at what you do. Besides, you never take from anyone who won't recover. For Mara's sake, most of them don't even notice!' she assured herself.

Well, if the smith wanted nothing to do with her, so be it. She would overcome the hurt.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

A knock at the door jolted Alyssa from her thoughts. She wasn't expecting any visitors today. Perhaps she was needed in the cistern? With Mercer floating face down in a large pool of water- the mental image made her grin- the title of Guild Master was up for grabs, and Brynjolf had all but thrown it to her. It wasn't official yet. Still a special job or two to complete. But that hadn't stopped the occupants of the Ragged Flagon from regarding her as 'Boss'.

She climbed out of her bed and sighed, not really wanting to deal with any of the beloved riff-raff from down below. She loved them all- Dirge withstanding, he was an ass- but she just wanted to wallow in her own self-pity like a big girl. She pulled open the door to reveal- Balimund?

Her heart clenched in fear. Had he come to say that not only could he not tolerate her near his forge, but in his city?

Balimund felt very awkward standing in front of the entrance of Honeyside. Apologies were not something he had ever really needed to give. Especially not to a thief. This was complicated. He hated complicated. If his father were here, he would have told Balimund he was right for his words and to drive the blasted girl out of the city.

But his mother, always the level-headed of the two, would tell Balimund to consider all the facts: She had come through for him in his time of need, and at great risk to her own life. The salts were fresh, no doubt taken from their source. She could have taken the salts for herself and sold them for a large sum of gold. Instead, she gave them to him without demanding payment.

The smith had never encountered a Flame Atronach, but had heard that they were fierce. Alyssa must be an incredible warrior. Or mage. He didn't know for sure. He could've found out; gotten to know her. Now he'd be lucky if she accepted his apology.

"I…" Balimund exhaled through his nose. Gods, this was harder than he thought.

"Despite what you may think of me, I have just as much right to be here as you do." Alyssa said firmly, standing straighter.

"No, that's not-"

"And I'll have you know that I scraped and saved in order to purchase this house."

"I just wanted to-"

"I earned every gold septim. With blood. I have bled for this house!"

"If you would just-"

"_And_ I pay my taxes-"

"Gods, woman, hear me out!" Balimund bellowed.

The Breton's eyes went wide, which would have seemed adorable if the smith wasn't exasperated.

"I'm sorry." It came out gruff, but at least it was out.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." His words and demeanor softened a little. " I shouldn't have been so…"

"Mean? Harsh? Cruel?" She quipped pointedly.

"Aye." He nodded, conceding. He even had the good sense to look sheepish. The Dragonborn was surprised. She was just trying to give tit-for-tat, but Balimund seemed to be genuinely apologizing.

Her eyebrows narrowed slightly. "What changed your mind?"

The salts had helped, but it was Asbjorn's testimony that had done it. It seems Alyssa had confided in the ever-curious Svana, who couldn't keep secrets from her beloved Fire-Tamer.

Though it was true she had taken advantage of the local shopkeepers, she had later done her best to make amends. The stones for the Argonian had been given in secret so as not to spoil the surprise to his mate, and Alyssa took no payment. It also turned out that the protection from the guild was legitimate.

A rogue thief had tried to rob Bersi at knifepoint. Someone had seen the suspicious stranger enter and had run off in search of the guards. Alyssa had been nearby and heard the cries for help. She had run ahead of the guards and attempted to talk the thief down. When he wouldn't relent, she used a calm spell and disarmed him. The guards took it from there.

Balimund later confirmed this with Bersi, who also admitted that she had genuinely seemed concerned for him. They were on better terms, and she sometimes brought him beautiful Dwemer artifacts, again at no cost.

Balimund felt like a cad. He was so sure she was a heartless pickpocket before he had all the facts. If it hadn't been so late, he would have gone to her and demanded she forgive him. Instead he laid awake half the night, haunted by that hurt look on her face.

"I was wrong." He shrugged. No need to say more than that. Well, except…

"And, I would be happy to repair your armor. And anything else you need."

She appeared to consider this. He hoped she would forgive him. For the sake of being able to sleep tonight. And because- no, that was it.

"Training."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes, you said that, and I forgive you. I need training."

It took a few seconds to piece her words together. He felt a rush of relief. But was she asking to be trained in smithing?

"I know the basics, if that is what you are worried about." Alyssa had taken his silence as hesitation.

"You wish to do what I do?" He asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yes. It is a great talent to have, especially for… someone like me." It wasn't yet common knowledge that she was the Dragonborn, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Very well." What was the harm? He tried to ignore the small leap his heart made at the idea of working alongside the beautiful woman.

Wait, beautiful?

"Great! I'll be there in a few minutes!" She beamed before shutting the door in his face.

Oh. She meant now?

Feeling like he was in a stupor, Balimund trudged back to the forge, which was burning better than it ever had. It was as if Flame Atronachs were bathing in the fire.

True to her word, Alyssa arrived. But she had undergone a small transformation.

In place of the brown tunic and leather pants she had been wearing, she had on full smith garb, complete with apron. Her braid had been piled messily and pinned to the top of her head, small wisps of hair framing her face. Balimund had been getting out the tools they would need. He had turned to say something, but it died on his lips as his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

He cursed under his breath. Forget 'beautiful'. This woman was Sex on a Spit. The red garb brought out the creamy color of her skin. Her face was flushed from running, and the black apron clung to her curves like he wished he could.

Gods, how was he going to get through this?


	5. Chapter 5

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 5

Like clockwork, Alyssa had arrived at six in the morning to help ready the forge and begin training. Both Balimund and Asbjorn were glad for the extra help, though the Fire-Tamer was a little jealous about having to share workspace and Balimund's time. That is, until Alyssa started bringing sweet rolls.

Bretons were known for their prowess in the kitchen. Despite having lost her mother early in life, the Dragonborn had learned to cook exceptionally, thanks to Sondhesa and a few of the Wayrest ladies who had taken pity on her. She might've been a cook if the field wasn't so male-dominated.

All was forgiven in Asbjorn's mind the second he stuffed half of the still-warm pastry in his mouth. Balimund had to remain stoic, being Forge Master, and ate his slowly.

Talos, it was good. For a Nord man, having a woman who could heat meat was essential. Having a woman who could cook this well? A gift from the gods.

After breakfast, the two would-be smiths stood ready for their master's instruction. Balimund wanted to assess Alyssa, so he asked her to craft what she knew how to. By the end of that first week, she had made two types of daggers, a full set of leather armor, and was finishing a hunting bow.

"These are good. Where did you learn to do this?" Asbjorn asked, running a hand over the leather cuirass. The Breton's face seemed to fall at this question.

"Riverwood." She said quietly. Balimund looked up from examining the Fire-Tamer's steel short sword.

Instead of continuing, Alyssa turned away, giving Balimund a full view of the narrow 'v' of exposed skin on her back, obscured slightly by black ties that laced up to her shoulders. The first time he had noticed this, he almost broke his own thumb with a hammer.

He came around to stand behind her. She was clearly in tears, frantically wiping them away.

"What ails you?" The smith asked, his hand hovering by her shoulder; half ready to give comfort, half losing his nerve.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, still not turning around. "I'm fine."

"Clearly you're not." He turned her to face him, hand resting on her shoulder. Her eyes were pink, but she had stopped crying. Thank the gods. He didn't know what to do with a crying woman.

It took a little coaxing, but Balimund finally got it out of the girl:

Riverwood was the first community she had ever been a part of in Skyrim. Upon arrival, the local blacksmith had looked after her and even taught her things at his forge. She had left, grateful for the kind man and ready to make her way in this new world. After hitting a few caves and several houses, she had returned to show her appreciation to him and his family, only to find that Alvor had been killed in a dragon attack.

Alyssa left out many details, like how Hadvar had brought her to his uncle after Alduin attacked Helgen, or how she blamed herself every day for not being there to save him. After his death she couldn't face his wife Sigrid or little Dorthe, but she regularly left gold and supplies at their door.

Balimund felt for her. Skyrim was a dangerous place, but with the return of the dragons, it had become downright deadly. Luckily, with stories of the dragons came stories of the once-fabled Dragonborn. Balimund had even felt the call of the Greybeards when it shook the land. The hero had been taking on the dragons and winning. He prayed that whoever he was, he could defeat the World-Eater as well.

"I am sorry for your loss. But as a fellow smith, I know he wouldn't want your tears. He is probably fitting armor for heroes in Sovengarde as we speak."

Alyssa smiled, giving a small chuckle. "Yes, you're right. I once started to cry and he looked so frightened, he ran off, calling back something about finding his wife for me."

Balimund grinned. Yep. Nothing scared a Nord man more than a weeping girl.

The Breton exhaled deeply. "Thank you." Her eyes shone, but he figured it was remnants of tears. He nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze before releasing it. Both were oblivious to the knowing look of the Fire-Tamer.

'Wait until I tell Svana.' He thought wryly.

* * *

Another week had passed, bleeding together in sweat and steel. Balimund had never remembered looking forward to work before now. It was just something he had to do. Now it was more than that. He couldn't place what it was exactly, but he felt… content. Happy, even. Or as close to happy as a surly smith gets. It wasn't all taffy treats and rainbows, though.

There had been an accident. Alyssa had been carrying an iron rod with tongs, the metal scorching. She laid it on the anvil, but it slipped, and she had instinctively grabbed for it. The girl had cried out in surprise, immediately dropping the rod and clutching her hand. Gods, Balimund had never moved so fast. He held her as Asbjorn had ran for a healer.

It had been unnecessary it seemed, for a soft golden light encircled her. Him as well, since she was in his arms. Balimund had heard of her using magic before, but it was only one time, and it was from the Illusion class. The healing magic had felt incredible, and a little intimate since they shared it. Examining her hand, the smith was relieved to see no trace of the injury. She seemed very embarrassed afterwards. He chastised her for being so careless, but she took it in stride. In that moment, something had shifted between the two, unbeknownst to them.

Alyssa moved on from leather and began working on steel armor. Asbjorn had gone inside to fix them something to eat while Balimund was putting tools away, the evening closing in. Neither saw the man coming up behind the Breton. Balimund turned in time to see hands reach for her. Fearing the worst, he raised the hammer and was ready to take down the man that would dare- cover her eyes?

"Guess who, Lass."

The 'o' of Alyssa's mouth immediately turned into a grin. "Hmm… well, I am picking up the distinct smell of Skeever butt, so…-"

"Now is that any way to talk to the man of your dreams?"

The red-haired man released her with an 'oof' and a chuckle when she playfully jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow.

Balimund was almost seething. Brynjolf. That no-good con artist. It was revolting to think of the number of poor souls looking for cures to their ailments that had handed over their hard-earned gold to that snake to get a bottle of his useless 'Falmer Blood Elixir'. He hated the man before, but now he downright loathed him. Being a thief, he wasn't surprised that they knew each other. He just didn't think they'd be so… chummy.

Alyssa excitedly went around and showed the master thief her latest work. He 'oh'ed and 'ah'ed dramatically, making her giggle. Gods, she had giggled!

Balimund tried not to watch the two, suddenly feeling sick.

Of course they were together. How could he have been so foolish? A woman as beautiful as Alyssa could have any man she desired, and as much as he hated the man- and he did- Brynjolf was younger and charming. It wasn't like he had really had a chance. She probably saw him as a father, if anything at all.

"I need you, Darling." Brynjolf almost cooed in her ear, but still loud enough for Balimund to hear. Bastard.

Alyssa looked up at the thief and nodded. Talos, why did Balimund's chest feel like she had taken the hammer and plunged it there?

Asbjorn walked out of the house, the air suddenly much thicker than he remembered. He eyed the three wearily. Uh-oh.

"You gentlemen don't mind if I steal her away now, do you?" The suave man had his hands on Alyssa's shoulders, waiting expectantly.

"You really should finish hammering out that chest piece while it is still hot, Alyssa." He addressed the girl, but his glare was directed at the red head. It was a half truth. She could come back to it later, but he had to try to get her to stay.

"Oh, I'll fire it again tomorrow, I promise. I wasn't very happy with it, anyway." She waited for him to tell her she could go, the man behind her looking smug.

Balimund lowered his head, defeated. He nodded.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Brynjolf bowed with a flourish and gently pulled the Breton along. Alyssa turned back and waved.

"Good night! See you tomorrow! I'm bringing bo-…" Her voice grew faint as she was led away by the thief.

Balimund just stood there, hammer in hand. Asbjorn could feel the anger rolling off of the man.

"Uh… Balimund?" the apprentice asked cautiously.

Suddenly and with a roar, the master smith swung the hammer down on the poor, unsuspecting chest plate, leaving an enormous dent in the center of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 6

Brynjolf and Alyssa entered the cistern through the secret entrance in the Riften Cemetery. They had a meeting with the rest of the guild, and it couldn't very well start without their soon-to-be guild master and the second-in-command. Still, Alyssa couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Asbjorn had made dinner not only for him and Balimund, but for her as well, despite her protests. She had actually planned on leaving earlier, but lost track of time. Now she felt like she had left too soon. She couldn't shake the feeling that Balimund was upset with her.

"So how long are you going to keep doing this little hobby of yours?" The thief asked nonchalant.

"It isn't a hobby, Brynjolf. I might make a career out of it. Go legit."

He looked at her in alarm. She rolled her eyes. "Relax, I was kidding. Still, it is a good skill to have."

"Aye, but there's really no need. I am acquiring a new smith for the Flagon as we speak."

"I don't know why you bothered. If I need to, I can craft what we need, once Balimund has his way with me. I mean… in training." Alyssa blushed, her words not coming out the way she had meant, but not able to shake the image it had created in her head.

Brynjolf scowled. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a jealous man. Most Nord men were. Over the last few months he had grown fond of the sweet slip of a woman. And now that things were starting to settle down in the guild, maybe it was time he settled down, too? The two of them would make a great pair, playing Mommy and Daddy to the riff-raff of the cistern.

"Besides, I want to learn for myself." The Breton nodded once, asserting her words.

They arrived just as everyone had gathered. Brynjolf leaned against the large desk in the corner- if you could call it a corner; it was the cistern after all- of the living quarters.

The idea of stepping foot in a wet, dark cistern, let alone _living_ in one would not appeal to most people. But the thieves had made it very cozy, with soft beds, tapestries, and even a few well-placed rugs. The training room was well equipped, and fresh ale was only a door away at the Ragged Flagon, the only under-city tavern.

"Alright lowlifes, move it in!" Brynjolf said with playful malice. "We need to go over the next few weeks; jobs, contracts, potential hits."

A few of the brighter ones had discussed targets they'd come across in their travels, and Delvin and Vex updated everyone on a few new clients and fences. Alyssa was the final word on anything questionable, but this meeting seemed to be going without a hitch, so she remained silent most of the time.

"Alright, before we all shove off, I have one last hit to discuss." Brynjolf crossed his arms and smirked. " A rather brilliant one, I might add, seeing as our own little Lady of Luck has already infiltrated this particular property. The smithy here is sure to hav-"

"NO."

All heads turned towards the Dragonborn. Brynjolf looked at her half in shock. "No?"

"No. I am putting Asbjorn Fire-Tamer and Balimund under my personal protection."

This resulted in a few raised eyebrows and whispers. The master thief stood up straight, looking agitated. "You can't do that, Lass. A hit is a hit." He tried not to let on that it was anything more than that. He was afraid of this.

Alyssa turned to address the room. "Stealing from residents in the city where our headquarters is located is foolish. It wouldn't be long before someone got fed up and came after us head on." Alyssa's voice was firm and commanding. It was moments like this she seemed more Imperial than Breton.

A few affirmative murmurs came from the group. The Dragonborn turned to her second-in-command. "The blacksmiths are to be left alone. Does everyone understand?" Everyone nodded but Brynjolf, who looked grim. She quirked her eyebrow in warning. He finally looked away and nodded.

"Good. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone dispersed and went back to what they were doing. Alyssa headed towards the hatch to take her back to the cemetery when Brynjolf grabbed her by the arm.

"What was that about, Lass?" He asked coolly.

"You heard me."

"I don't understand why you even waste your time up there with that old man."

Alyssa's eyes narrowed. "First of all, he is not an old man. Second, he is a master of the craft who can and _will_ teach me to be just as good!" She was getting mad. What was Brynjolf's problem?

The red head sneered. "You know he wants you. I can tell. I saw the way he looked at you. Why do you think he was so upset when I touched you?"

"What? No he doesn't." She hadn't considered the possibility of Balimund getting upset other than she had left work too soon. But, it had been later than she normally stayed. She felt confused.

"Don't be daft, girl. He was steaming worse than that forge when I leaned into you."

Her confusion changed to mortification. "Oh, gods. He must think we're lovers!"

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Brynjolf asked, his pride wounded. His hand slipped down her arm and he entwined his fingers with hers, brushing a thumb against her palm.

She pulled away as if his touch had shocked her. Now? _Now_ he wanted to be with her? When she had first arrived to the Flagon, she was smitten over the red-haired man. But he had made it perfectly clear that he didn't have the time of day for her, casting her of with 'Not now, Lass' so many times she couldn't keep count. The Breton didn't take rejection well, and she still had her pride.

"Now who's daft?" She stormed away towards the hatch again. Brynjolf let her go this time.

The nerve of that man! She felt like shouting him against the stone walls, consequences be damned. She might have if he had tried to stop her again. She came around the corner of the Temple of Mara, goddess of love. The smithy wasn't on the way to Honeyside, but her feet carried her that way just the same.

The forge was still. It was late; the men had no doubt retired. She walked up to the door, tempted to lift her fist and knock. She wanted to tell Balimund it was all a misunderstanding. That she wasn't with Brynjolf. That she…

This was crazy! He probably wouldn't even know what she was talking about. Brynjolf was wrong. There was no way an honest and noble man like Balimund would want anything to do with someone like her. She was a thief! It was like water and oil. They didn't mix.

She would just have to count herself lucky that he was even willing to help her. She sighed, leaning her forehead briefly on the door before heading back towards Honeyside.

* * *

Balimund had barely put more than two words together the whole evening, and pushed his food around his plate. Asbjorn would have found the situation funny if the man didn't look so dejected. He must have honestly thought that Alyssa was interested in that sewer rat, Brynjolf. But Balimund hadn't seen what he had seen. He hadn't seen the way the girl watched the smith instead of what he was showing her. Her eyes shown with admiration, and her pink cheeks said even more. She was just as smitten as the Forge Master was with her; they were both just too daft to see it.

"I've never known you to pine, Balimund."

"I'm not pining." The smith said gruffly, scowling deeper. As a child, Asbjorn had always looked up to Balimund as a father. But in his manhood, he saw a brother in the older smith. Which meant he was open for teasing.

"Oh, right. So you've just been staring at the same page for the last ten minutes because you can't read."

The apprentice dodged the flying book, trying not to laugh. He sat across from the sullen man, turning serious.

"Why don't you go and talk to her? I bet you she is home by now."

"There's nothing to talk about." Alyssa clearly belonged to that prick Brynjolf.

The apprentice smirked and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "No? Well, then how about I talk? Let's see. Svana says that she and Alyssa take walks now and again. Svana asks about her adventures, and Alyssa asks about… well, not Svana. At least, not at first."

"What are you babbling about, Boy?" He couldn't stand it when Asbjorn was cheeky.

"And then I've seen some things. Oh, but it's probably nothing… stolen glances in your direction… flushed cheeks whenever you come near… like I said, probably nothing."

"Don't toy with me, Whelp."

The apprentice faced the man squarely. "Balimund, I don't understand how you don't see it. That girl is practically wrapped around your finger."

The smith couldn't believe it. Sure, she was sweet to him, but he had figured she was that way with everyone. He tried to remember anything that resembled what the apprentice had described.

He remembered he had been instructing her on the right angle and stance for swinging a hammer. He had placed one hand on the small of her back to steady her, and the other wrapped around her hand, so that they held the hammer together. He had enjoyed the contact immensely. She had gasped, cheeks turning a deep pink. At the time Balimund had figured she was just hot and tired. Now…

Could he have been wrong?

Balimund practically tipped the chair in an effort to get to the door. As he reached for the handle he stopped.

'Calm yourself, man!' he chastised inwardly. What exactly had he planned on doing? Busting down her door and ravaging the poor Breton until they were both a sweaty heap on her bed? As much as he savored the mental image, she was not that kind of girl. Besides, she deserved better than that!

Sighing, Balimund leaned his head on the door. Gods, how was he supposed to do this? It had been too long since he had to court anyone.

He thought he heard shuffling outside the door when Asbjorn interrupted his thoughts.

"So… you think she might like to go out for a meal? Perhaps tomorrow night at the Bee and Barb?" He could hear amusement dripping from the Fire-Tamer.

Balimund walked to his bed and sat down, putting his head in his hands. This was becoming a habit.

"Alright, I'll leave you alone. But think about it, okay?" Asbjorn left the table in the direction of his own bed. Falling back, the blacksmith sighed and stared at the roof.

"I'm too old for this."


	7. Chapter 7

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 7

Alyssa was a wreck.

How was she ever going to face Balimund? He probably thought she was some sort of wench who got passed around the guild. And _how _could she not have seen what Brynjolf was doing? That rotten Skeever had intentionally made it seem like they were together.

Even if Balimund wanted nothing to do with her, she still didn't want him thinking ill of her. She would apologize for the scene Brynjolf caused and explain herself.

No matter how insane he thought she was afterwards.

* * *

Balimund was a wreck.

Courting was not his strong suit. But for Alyssa, he wanted to go about this the right way. No barbaric conquest for this woman; she deserved all the expected customs of pursuit. He knew Bretons went about courtship in a much different manner from Nords, but he didn't know all the details. He could ask at the Temple of Mara, but he wasn't sure he could handle the humiliation; Maramal would no doubt make a fuss, spouting some nonsense about 'his joy over blossoming love', and loud enough for half of Riften to hear.

Maybe there was a book on it? Gods, was he getting ahead of himself? She hadn't even said yes yet! Though Asbjorn said there was nothing to it, and no need to be nervous.

'Right, and I'm sure the whelp hadn't been a stuttering mess the first time he asked to court Svana.' he thought wryly.

Still, the man said Alyssa would welcome his attentions. But was this wise? She had gone from client to apprentice; a whole new set of rules would be broken.

The smith shook his head, clearing it. Enough! Life was too damn short, and he had every right to a chance at happiness. Alyssa would put him over the moons.

When she showed up for training, he would take her aside and ask her to supper.

End of story.

"Balimund?"

The Nord whipped around. The Breton woman was wringing her hands together, her dusky large eyes alight with worry. That couldn't be a good sign.

"I need to tell you something." The smith braced himself. He wasn't even going to get the chance to ask her before she rejected him.

"I wanted to apologize." …wait, what?

"Oh?" Balimund tried to appear nonchalant.

"Yes. I'm afraid Brynjolf… well, he likes to play games, and… anyway, it won't happen again." She would shout him across Skyrim if he even dared to.

"No harm done." Well, that had been unexpected. The two stood there in silence, Balimund almost losing his nerve. Suddenly and out of nowhere, Asbjorn came from behind the Forge Master, patting the man on the back while addressing the Breton.

"Good morning, Alyssa! Lovely day, isn't? Should be just as lovely tonight. I'm thinking of taking Svana to the Bee and Barb and then back to the Bunk House for dancing. Seems a perfect day for it- too perfect to pass up!" He emphasized this last part with a slap to Balimund's back. "Well, I better stoke the flames!" And just like that, he was gone again.

'Subtle, Whelp.' The smith cringed inwardly.

Alyssa's eyebrow quirked, silently inquiring about Asbjorn's strange behavior. He shook his head, then cleared his throat.

"Alyssa, I…"

She looked at him curiously and… was that hope?

"They are serving venison at the Barb tonight. You've worked hard, and I would like to reward you." If left like that, she would just assume it was him being kind and nothing more. Come on. Say it.

"And… I would enjoy the pleasure of your company." There. For better or worse, it was out.

So many expressions went across her face that he couldn't recognize them. The last one was a pretty blush and shy smile. By the gods, Asbjorn had been right!

"That sounds wonderful… but…" Damn it, Asbjorn!

...

Balimund had not only accepted Alyssa's bizarre attempt at an apology, but was now asking her to dine with him? Just him? No apprentice? Not that Asbjorn wasn't welcome company. But this meant that Balimund… his intentions…

Her heart was beating so fast it was a wonder it didn't stop from exhaustion. She had never expected this! It was more than she could have hoped for. The thought made her smile, thinking of the two of them sharing an intimate meal… at the Bee and Barb…

Damn it.

She was pretty sure Keerava would chase her out the minute she walked through the door. Though Talen-jei had forgiven her, the Argonian woman had no clue the role Alyssa played in retrieving the precious stones for her wedding ring. She could tell her, but that might taint the ring for her, and she couldn't do that to either of them.

Balimund's face had changed. He suddenly looked… oh, gods. He thought she was saying no to _him_!

" I could make dinner for us at my house!" … did she really just say that? Balimund's eyebrows rose a little, no doubt because she had practically shouted, and spoke all in one breath.

If Sondhesa could see her from the heavenly realm of Azura, she was no doubt lecturing the Breton woman on how inappropriate it was to be with a strange man. Alone. In her house. But Balimund wasn't a strange man. He was a man of honor. And despite their short encounter, she trusted him with her life.

...

He couldn't speak. He couldn't think! Had she really just invited him over? He knew she was too innocent to understand the implications. But that didn't help the barrage of mental images of the two of them alone together, in a room with a bed.

"I could make you anything you like. I… just don't think I would be welcome over at the Barb." She said softly, looking a bit sheepish.

Ah, of course. How could he have been so stupid as to forget that? Keerava still hated the Breton for what she had done. Now it was Balimund's turn to feel sheepish.

"Whatever you make will be fine." He smiled reassuringly.

Alyssa returned the smile fully, cheeks still warm. "Great! Oh. I'll need to go shopping. Do you mind if I… take the day?"

Here, the 'Magically Disappearing Asbjorn', reappeared. "We can handle it without you for the day, don't you worry!" He threw an arm across the other Nord's back. "Go on, we'll be just fine, right Balimund?"

Alyssa stifled a grin, and looked up at the Master Smith for consent. Balimund nodded, still a little shocked from the turn of events.

"And, he'll be there at seven _sharp_." The apprentice advocated for the sudden mute.

Alyssa nodded. "I'll see you tonight then. Good day, gentlemen." She gave Balimund one last gentle smile before retreating in the direction of her house. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn her hips were swinging a little. Just barely.

Balimund's eyes followed her until she was out of sight, then turned his head to glare at the Fire-Tamer. "Your assistance was unnecessary."

"Right. So, Prince of Hearts, what are you going to wear?"

"Wear?"

"Aye. You're not planning on wearing your apron tonight, are you? I guarantee Alyssa will be dressed in her finest. Maybe she'll let her hair down?" he said, wagging his eyebrows.

Balimund decided that the apprentice had enjoyed himself enough at his expense for one day.

"You're right. In fact, I think I'll stop around three today so that I can prepare properly."

"Really? We're going to close up early?" Asbjorn looked up, surprised and hopeful.

"No. Not _we_."

"…ah, Balimund. That is cold."

* * *

Praise Kynareth that Marise Aravel had fresh beef!

Alyssa knew exactly what she would make for Balimund. She had been taught a few skills that were intended to recommend her to the opposite sex, and cooking was the greatest of all. Of course, it was unlikely Sondhesa could have ever imagined it would be for anyone other than a nice Breton man; especially not a Nord blacksmith.

Shopping had been very pleasant. Svana had even snuck away from the Bunk House to help her pick something to wear that would 'dazzle the man', as the tavern girl had put it. It was times like this that Alyssa almost felt… ordinary. _Normal_.

She sighed. Is this what her life would have been like all the time if she didn't have the fate of the world sitting on her shoulders? Then again, if she wasn't the Dragonborn, Alduin would not have shown up at Helgen looking for her when she was on the chopping block, and she would be short one head.

She had just been trying to get into Cyrodiil so she could find the mysterious priory where the old letters in her family's chest had come from, when she got caught up in the chaos of a Stormcloak camp raid. The Imperials hadn't even cared that she wasn't with them. These men were a far cry from the soldiers in Wayrest. Sondhesa said her father had been one of the strongest commanders of the Empire legion, and one of the most honorable.

Despite the black dragon's efforts, she had escaped with Hadvar, who sympathized with the out-of-place Breton girl. She had gone to Whiterun to warn the Jarl and managed to get tangled up in yet another battle, this time with a different dragon.

It was still a blur to her. They had taken the hulking beast down and when she approached it, a white light swirled around her, _into _her. She could hear voices, much like she had when she was a little girl and had put her ancestor's ring on. Then the call came from the Greybeards.

And so here she was. It wasn't what she had planned, but when she thought about it, who really had control of their destiny? And again, if she hadn't been who she was, she'd be dead right now. Perhaps it was fair; a life for a life. But that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy life for herself once in a while.

Things were relatively quiet. Of course, she knew it wouldn't last. It was only a matter of time before she was summoned to do this or that. And she would. It was her duty, an honor even. She just hoped she could keep her two lives separate for as long as possible.

* * *

True to his word, Balimund left the forge early to get ready for the night. Asbjorn only grumbled a little, too happy for the smith to truly be mad for having to stay on. "have fun, Balimund. She suits you. And hey, maybe we can all meet up later tonight for dancing? Svana says her aunt is leaving for Markarth this evening to pray at their temple." Balimund nodded, and headed for the Bee and Barb.

Normally if Balimund wanted to get cleaned up, he would just go to the lake and wash away the grime. This time he felt the occasion called for a bit more than that, so he had arranged for a bath. He had two choices: The Bunk House, or the Barb. The first was not an option. Knowing Haelga, she would hassle him relentlessly, offering to scrub him herself. Before he might have welcomed her attention. But now the idea of the Dibella worshiper's hands on him felt like a betrayal to the Breton girl.

Gods, when had he fallen so hard?

So there he was on the top floor of the Barb, scrubbing his hair mercilessly in the "large" metal basin. He smirked. His idea of large and Telen-jei's were very different. At least the Argonian had offered him oils for the bath. The smith had chosen one that smelled like sandalwood; very manly.

After he felt his skin was rubbed raw and that no dirt remained, he sloshed out of the tub. Drying off with the sheet provided, Balimund set to work untangling his hair with his fingers. He had decided on simple clothes, opting for a forest green tunic and leather pants. Keerava was currently polishing his boots.

He looked out the window; the sun was getting close to setting. Time to go.


	8. Chapter 8

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 8

The Dragonborn smoothed her dress for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. She needed to keep busy or she would burst! Alyssa checked the pot and brought a spoonful to her lips, blowing on it before tasting it for the third time. Her eyes fluttered briefly. By Mara, that was delicious!

Ahkari had to be a sending from the gods. Not only did she have the spices Alyssa had run out of, but when the Breton told her that she was entertaining, and who, the Khajiit woman told her of a delightful dish perfect for whetting the appetite. She provided her with the recipe and the necessary ingredients.

Alyssa recognized the first two, but the Moon Sugar was new to her. Ahkari said it was native to Elsweyr and it was what gave the fondue its signature flavor. The Breton could see why the Khajiit loved this dish. It was amazing! In fact, she was beginning to feel amazing, too. 'Must be anticipation for him.' she thought briefly before checking the other pots and table settings.

She had been expecting it, but the knock on the door still made her heart race. She did a final once-over of the room with her eyes, then pulled the door open. There, standing in his rugged glory, was Balimund- and yet it wasn't! The man had practically transformed. She had only ever seen him in his smith apron, and covered in a lair of soot. It had never bothered her, but she had to admit that this Balimund was striking. His hair was far more golden then she had ever seen it, and it was wavy. She wanted to touch it.

Mara, where had that come from? The Breton shook her head a little trying to clear it.

Balimund had always thought Alyssa was attractive, but he was not prepared for the vision that greeted him.

The Breton woman wore a deep blue dress with gold trim that matched her eyes perfectly. Her hair _was_ down, with two small braids framing her face and a larger braid laced with tiny white flowers wrapped around her head like a crown. Her face was without paint except her lips- those lips- had an enticing shimmer to them.

"What is it?" Alyssa asked. She touched her hair self-consciously. The man was looking at her strangely. "Is it too much? I told Svana it was."

"No!" Balimund shook his head eagerly. "No, it's… you look…"

His eyes softened. She looked like a bride.

"You look lovely." He handed her a bottle of spiced wine.

She gave him one of her broad smiles and stepped out of the doorway. "Come in."

The first thing Balimund noticed about the room was that he could see her bed from the door. He looked away quickly and stepped inside, making an admiring sweep of the room. It was very warm and inviting, much like its owner. The hearth had many pots around it with delicious smells coming from them. The table was set simply, a cluster of red mountain flowers in an empty wine bottle placed at the center.

"You play?" Balimund nodded towards the lute in the corner.

"Yes. I played as a girl and then a little at the Bard's College."

"Ah, that would explain your honey-" The smith stopped short, clearing his throat. "Uh, where exactly did you grow up in High Rock?"

"Wayrest. My family has been there for generations, though…"

"Though…?"

"It's a long story."

"And the night is young." Balimund offered. She smiled and motioned for him to take a seat at the table. As he got settled, Alyssa went to a pot, ladling something thick and white into a wooden bowl. She took a loaf of bread from the hearth and laid the items on the table. "Please, help yourself."

The Nord tore a piece from the loaf and dipped it in the bowl. He had never seen food like this, but it smelled of ale, so it had to be good. Without hesitation, he plopped the piece in his mouth. It appeared to be melted cheese. He had to stifle a moan. Gods, it was incredible.

"Good, isn't it?" She giggled. He had only heard her do that with Brynjolf. He liked that sound, especially directed at him. "I've never made it before, but it was so simple!"

"What is it?"

"Elsweyr Fondue."

Balimund had heard of it, but had never tasted it before today. The Khajiits loved it from what he heard, and he could see why. He took a bigger piece of bread and dipped heartily. Alyssa filled their plates and served him, sitting with her own. Spiced beef with baked potatoes greeted the hungry Nord. He hadn't enjoyed food like this… ever, and he had dined at the Palace of Kings!

The meal began pleasantly with light conversation; progress on weapons at the forge, festivals coming up. Both were feeling better and better as the evening went on, easily slipping into laughter and gentle teasing. They enjoyed the new courses, but kept returning to the fondue. It was just so good.

He seemed pleased! She hoped he liked it. She hoped he _loved_ it. Gods, was it warm in here?

"What do you say we take the wine and go enjoy it on the dock?" Alyssa might as well have said 'take me, you stallion' with the way she had made the offer. She leaned forward, looking as if she might touch him, only to sweep past his hand and grab the bottle of spiced wine. Tease… wait, had he just thought that? Nah, not him. And not her. She was beautiful.

"You're beautiful." … okay, that was definitely him. And out loud. Whoops.

She bit her bottom lip to contain her giggle. Gods, he wanted to do that. She probably wouldn't mind, either. She beckoned him with her finger and walked backwards towards her bedroom. Balimund almost knocked the chair over- no wait, he did- in order to get to her. She ran, screaming and laughing. He almost caught her at the corner, but she didn't stop at the bed, instead going out a door he hadn't seen before. Oh.

Before running out after her, the Nord ran back to the table and grabbed the half-empty bowl of lukewarm fondue. He met the Breton outside; she was leaning back against the banister and staring straight up into the night sky. "Oh! Look at them! I have never seen stars like these!"

The sky was pitch black and littered with what had to be billions of flickering, flashing stars. The aurora lights flowed in ribbons of fuchsia and viridian. So far only one of the moons was making an appearance, close to the horizon. Balimund admired the sky briefly before looking at the most brilliant star he had ever seen. She was oblivious to anything around her, mumbling about flying to the moons.

"Can I ask you something?" He sat the bowl between them and took the wine from her hands, also setting it on the banister. She looked back down at him and gave him an almost sultry smile.

"Anything."

"How old are you?" He didn't want to know. He had to know.

She leaned closer to him, gazing at the smith through her eyelashes. "Does it matter?"

"No," he lied, " but I'd like to know all the same."

"I am not yet seven and twenty."

Balimund cringed, causing her to hit his shoulder. "You said it didn't matter!"

"It doesn't, but…" He didn't get the chance to finish, because she noticed the fondue between them and exclaimed excitedly. "Oh! Good on you! I forgot that…"

Instantly forgetting… whatever he had been about to say, he grinned at her. "You're an amazing cook."

"Thank you! I wanted to impress you. You are so impressive. And big." She gasped, then laughed wildly. "Oh… no bread?"

He shrugged. "I think we're out." Her eyes were pretty. Darker than he remembered. Had they always been so black?

Without hesitation, she swiped her finger in the bowl and held it out to him. He only hesitated for a second before leaning forward and licking it clean in one fluid, slow motion. Her eyes were half closed, and her cheeks were flushed. She sighed softly.

Hmm…

He repeated her gesture, dipping his finger and presenting it to her. The smith had figured she would do as he had. He had not been prepared for what she did instead.

She leaned forward and took the entire tip of his finger into her mouth, her tongue torturously slow in cleaning the fondue.

"GODS!" Balimund cried out, hardening instantly. He stood frozen in place as she continued on. Drawing his finger deeper into her mouth, her eyes fluttered shut, eliciting a moan from the Nord.

After what seemed a blissful eternity, she released his finger with a loud _pop. _Alyssa opened her eyes and looked at the master smith with a satisfied grin.

Balimund pulled her against him roughly, his mouth meeting hers with crushing force. She immediately grabbed his hair, wanting to touch it all night. His tongue teased her lips, silently begging for entrance. She gasped, allowing him in. Their tongues danced furiously, each battling for dominance.

She plastered her body to his, feeling something hard against her thigh. She shivered, causing the Nord to moan into her mouth. He cupped her ass, pulling her against him and giving a small thrust. She came alive in his hands, whimpering and clutching at him. He repeated the motion, growling. This continued until the Breton pulled back with a loud gasp.

"Balimund, please!" He didn't need her to explain. He knew what she wanted. It was what they both wanted. He pulled back enough to scoop her into his arms bridal-style. He kicked the door open and fell with her onto the bed. Alyssa wrapped her arms around the smith's neck, pulling him flush against her. They kissed frantically, the room filled with their moans and sighs.

Balimund brought a hand from her hip down her thigh, slowly tugging the hem of her dress up her legs. He broke the kiss and leaned back to look at her. Her face shown with desire and something he couldn't place. Her auburn hair was fanned out on the pillow. She looked so innocent. Gods, he wanted her. He wanted to possess her, claim her.

"…Lyss…"

Oh, she liked that. It was so… Mara help her, she couldn't think straight! She looked up into his eyes. The once icy-blue orbs were now deep, black pools. She wasn't frightened in the least. No, she wanted this. Wanted him! Her dress was well past her thigh, Balimund's hand hovering between them.

"Please…" She whimpered.

He slowly leaned down to capture her lips again when a knock at the door jolted them from their euphoria. They froze, eyes still heavy with lust and panting. Maybe whoever it was would leave? Then they could-

Another knock at the door made Balimund curse, releasing his prize and stomping to the door. He whipped it open, ready to shout at whoever it was to go to Oblivion. He stopped short when he recognized the culprits.

"Balimund! Are you two ready for some dancing?" A slightly intoxicated Asbjorn and Svana were smiling at the angry smith. Dancing? He planned on it, just not on a floor, and not with an audience.

"Dancing? I'd love to go dancing!" Alyssa bound up to the doorway, greeting the couple excitedly. She grabbed Balimund's hand, tugging him outside. He really wanted to stay and finish what they'd started.

"C'mon, Bal!"

Well, when she put it like that…

* * *

The next morning, Balimund awoke late, face-down on his bed. His mind felt sluggish and fuzzy. What did he drink? Whatever it was, it was different from anything he'd had before. It had two distinct differences from the drinks he'd normally partaken of:

The first, it didn't leave him with a hangover.

The second, he remembered _everything_.

The smith shot up from the bed. Oh, gods. What had he done? He was remembering it all slowly, each detail more disturbing than the last. He had ravaged the girl, or almost did. She hadn't protested- he was pretty damn sure she had started it- but he had swore he _wouldn't_ do this! He was going to court her, take it slow. Instead, he had practically attacked her.

He had to find her, apologize. Balimund frantically looked for his boots, making enough noise to rouse the Fire-Tamer. Asbjorn rubbed his head in an attempt to sooth the vicious pain. "Ah… Balimund… enjoy yourself last night?"

Balimund stopped to stare at the apprentice. It had occurred to him that he and Alyssa were interrupted by the young couple to be invited to the Bunk House. That part of the night still eluded him. Okay, so the drink _had_ rotted his mind. He grabbed the Fire-Tamer by the collar and hoisted him up enough to get his full attention.

"Asbjorn. What happened at the Bunk House?"

"That's what you're going to ask me about? I thought you'd be more curious about the Temple of Mara."

Balimund stared wide-eyed. "Tem… Temple…?"

There was only one thing that happened at that temple besides worship: wedding ceremonies.

The master smith looked down at his left hand- no, no ring. He sighed, relieved that he hadn't drug the girl to the alter and then forgot about it. Then again, it was possible he had just lost it. And the bride, for that matter.

"Relax. You didn't get married last night. You know, it's a good thing Maramal makes everyone wait a full day before he'll marry them. Besides, I don't think he took you seriously. You had no amulet, and you two were _clearly_ in no shape to be making life-changing decisions." The apprentice smirked, despite the discomfort of being hoisted none-too-gently. "What did you two drink?"

* * *

Alyssa awoke slowly, feeling like a haze covered her sprawled-out body. The sunlight filtering through her window and bearing down on her poor eyes told her it was late into the morning. How did she get here? She remembered singing and dancing, but…

"I swear, Sanguine, if you've put me through this again I'll…" But she would've remember seeing the Daedric prince, even in the unsuspecting guise of 'Sam Guivenne'. No, it must've been that spiced wine she and Balimund-

Balimund!

She sat up and looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. She got up and did a quick sweep of the room: Everything was in order, except she'd forgotten to take care of the food left over from dinner. Too bad. But where was he? She didn't remember saying goodbye. Think… before the dancing, they had been on the dock, right? Drinking the wine and eating the-

Sweet Talos, she had… they'd… and then- oh, gods.

Her face burned brightly, remembering how she had wantonly teased and flirted. And then she'd fed him the fondue from her finger. And then… oh, GODS!

The Dragonborn buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. What had she done? She remembered what she had done but _what had she done!?_

She needed air. She was pretty sure she was going to be sick. Pushing open the door leading to the dock she ran to the banister, gasping deeply.

"Don't panic," she whispered, "don't panic."

It would be fine. She was pretty sure Balimund was just as drunk as she had been. She would find him, apologize, and ask if they could start over. They would probably laugh about it. Some day. Maybe.

She turned to leave when she noticed a dancing red light on a plank. She followed it with her eyes. What she found caused all color to drain from her face:

There on the banister, was the _unopened _bottle of wine.


	9. Chapter 9

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 9

That Khajiit had to be a sending from Sanguine!

It hadn't taken long for Alyssa to figure out that Balimund's and her behavior the night before was _not _normal. And with the still-full bottle of wine sitting as evidence of their sobriety, she knew it had to be the one thing they had never had before: the fondue.

Ahkari confessed that though Moon Sugar did not effect Khajiit in the slightest other than appeasing their love of sweets, she knew that men and elves had a much more interesting reaction to it. When she had told Alyssa that the fondue would 'whet their appetites', she hadn't meant for the meal.

Mortified, Alyssa left the caravan for the gates, berating herself. How could she be so stupid? Moon Sugar even sounded like a drug! She wouldn't keep this from Balimund. He deserved to know what she had done. The Breton just prayed he would forgive her.

Balimund was already outside, lining and inspecting tools. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire; mostly from humiliation, but also from remembering the things they had done. She had relived that moment over and over since she woke up. Drug or no drug, she had liked it. It was incredible. The smith had awoken something inside of her that she wasn't sure she could suppress.

"Good morning." The Breton had practically whispered the greeting, but Balimund's head whipped up. He stared at her. She didn't know what his reaction would be upon seeing her after what they had done. Would he be upset? Regret it even? Or would he want more? To finish what they had started. Mara help her.

The Forge Master came out from behind the anvil to stand before her, taking her hands in his. "Alyssa…" He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. It was unacceptable. I promise it won't happen again and hope you can forgive me."

She shook her head, looking utterly ashamed. "Balimund, I have to tell you something. It… it's all my fault." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "It was the fondue. I put… there was Moon Sugar in it. I'm so sorry! I honestly didn't know that…" Her voice had broke towards the end, the tears spilling over.

Balimund pulled her against him, gently wrapping his arms around her. His chin rested on the top of her head as she buried her face in his chest. She began to shake, silently crying.

"Shhh… here now," The Nord uttered softly. "It's alright. Of course you couldn't have known, I know that. …Lyss, please stop crying."

The Breton's weeping had turned into sobs. How could he be so kind after all the trouble she caused? He continued his soothing ministrations, murmuring for her to be at peace. He kissed the top of her head, gently swaying them. Alyssa calmed down, reduced to sniffles and feeling embarassed at her own hysteria.

When the Dragonborn was out in the wilds of Skyrim, she was fearless. Her strength went unrivaled, taking down draugr, bears, trolls, bandits, atronachs, Forsworn and even dragons! You name it, she had killed it at least twice. So how did one man turn her into a weeping, shuddering mess?

...She loved him.

There it was. It would be foolish to try and deny it to herself when it was as clear as a flawless diamond. She had fallen hard for Balimund and there was no going back. This was complicated. She wanted this, all of it; but could she really have it? Destiny pulled her in every which direction until she didn't know north from south. How could she possibly make this work beyond a simple tryst?

...

He had never done this with a woman. These were not the actions of a man simply looking to sate his loneliness. His desire to soothe her, protect her; this went beyond casual courting. It would have frightened him if it hadn't felt so right. She felt so right.

Alyssa pulled back enough to look up at him. Even with red-rimmed eyes and tear trails on her face, she looked so beautiful.

"Bal-"

He silenced the Breton by capturing her lips with his own. His hand slid up to cradle her head, deepening the kiss. If he was trying to shut her up, he had chosen a great method. After a few glorious minutes he pulled back, needing air. He kept them connected by laying his forehead against hers.

"No more tears. You have nothing to be sorry for." She opened her mouth to protest only to be stopped with another toe-curling kiss.

She was beginning to like this game.

A throat cleared behind them. They pulled away, fully expecting an obnoxiously-grinning Asbjorn, only to find a stranger looking at them awkwardly.

"I have a letter for Alyssa Wulfe. They said it was urgent, but… I could come back later."

Alyssa shook her head, leaving Balimund's arms. She took the letter and tipped the courier. She broke the seal and read it, hoping futily that it was just a letter from a friend. Her face became severe. She read it a second time quickly, willing the letters on the paper to decintigrate into ash.

Of course. It had to be now.

Esbern and Delphine were summoning her to Sky Haven Temple. It seemed the old man had a plan for taking the fight to the World-Eater. Gods knew she had no desire to fight that black-winged demon any time soon. She was still having nightmares about their first battle at The Throat of the World, after she had recovered the Elder Scroll and learned the Dragonrend Shout. She seriously doubted if she could bring him down again; Alduin knew what she was capable of, and wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. Perhaps there was logic in Esbern's plan after all. The only way she'd have a chance against him was if she caught him by surprise.

Looking up at Balimund who had been watching her, her expression softened. Gods, why now?

"I… I have to go."

He nodded, looking grim. No doubt the guild needed her for something. As much as he hated her profession, he wouldn't stand in the way of what she felt she must do.

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. A few weeks?"

Gods, what could she need to do that she would be gone so long? He nodded again, looking down. She cupped his cheek, looking at him with longing.

"I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. But people are counting on me."

He placed a hand over hers, squeezing it gently. "Go get your weapons. I'll sharpen them while you pack."

* * *

Brynjolf was leaning against a railing in the Ragged Flagon. A few of the guild members were celebrating another successful week. He had a lot to be happy about; business was good, Nocturnal was appeased, and the guild had never been stronger.

He sighed. His life was great, but lacking one great detail; a certain auburn-haired, blue-eyed Breton.

Where had he gone wrong? He was a highly desirable man. He'd conned many a girl out of more than just their jewelry. His charm? Fully in tact. So what in Oblivion did that bloody smith have that he didn't?

The door to the cistern opened and closed. Brynjolf had gotten quite good at being able to tell who was coming and going by the sound of their footfall. He recognized Alyssa before she came into view.

"Welcome back, Lass." The master thief crossed his arms, feigning indifference.

"Brynjolf." She nodded at him. "I've come to tell you that I've been called away. I need you to take charge until I return."

"Where to this time?"

"Sky Haven Temple."

The Nord stood up straighter, looking concerned. "Alduin?"

She nodded. Few people knew Alyssa was the Dragonborn, and Brynjolf was one such person. She had told him shortly after the 'Mercer Incident'. The Nord had asked her what she thought about serving Nocturnal for all eternity. The Breton had laughed and said the Daedric prince would have to get in line.

He had taken the news rather well. After a demonstration, of course. She would never forget the look on the thief's face when she had breathed fire to light a torch. He had started flirting with her after that. She had thought he was just being Brynjolf, but now she suspected he was attracted to her power, rather than her as a woman.

"Be careful out there, Lass." He leaned forward as if to embrace her, but she side-stepped him.

"Thank you, I will." She replied steely. When she made for the door, the Nord pulled her to him and seized her lips desperately.

There had been a time when she would have welcomed his kiss. Now it left her cold.

She shoved him away. Pulling her hand back, she brought it to his face with enough force that it echoed, causing all of the patrons of the Flagon to turn and stare.

"Don't you ever do that again." Her voiced was strained, holding back the rage she felt. Dirge made a motion to go for her, but one look from the Breton was enough to make him pause. She looked back at Brynjolf, the man clutching his cheek. It would probably bruise. Good.

"You loved me once. I know you did." He sneered. "What changed?"

"I may have been infatuated with you at one time, Bryn. But I was never in love." Her voice was strong and steady. She had to get it through his head that the two of them would never happen. The blushes and sighs she had given over him all those months ago did not constitute as love.

She knew what love was. It was Balimund.

"And I got tired of waiting. Now if you'll excuse me…" Alyssa walked away, this time no one stopping her. The crowd looked at Brynjolf, who cringed from the ache. They had all learned a very important lesson that day, but he most of all:

Oblivion hath no fury like a Dragonborn scorned.


	10. Chapter 10

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 10

Where Alyssa thought she would be having the battle of her life, she was instead dying of boredom, sitting at the head of a large stone table as she listened to opposing men squabble about who got what and why they deserved it. The meeting was going _swell_. Her head in her hand, the Dragonborn huffed in agitation. There was nothing more frustrating than a bunch of grown men acting like babes fighting over a shiny toy.

But this was no toy. Skyrim's fate could be doomed by such incapable hands if _this _was the best the Empire had to offer. General Tullius was a brute with something to prove, and had little love for the country. Still, Alyssa Wulfe infinitely preferred the Empire to the Rebels of Windhelm. Ulfric Stormcloak was everything she had imagined him to be and worse; conceited, domineering and prejudiced. The so-called High King couldn't get over the fact that not only was the Dragonborn not a Nord, but a _woman_!

'Gods, let's just get this over with.' Alyssa thought, exasperated. She wanted to get this horrible meeting over so Balgruuf the Greater would allow her to use the Jarl's keep to lure and trap a dragon in order to get to Alduin's fortress. When Esbern had first told her the plan, she laughed. Out loud. He hadn't taken that well.

When it was proposed to the Jarl of Whiterun, she was sure he would have laughed, too. Instead, Balgruuf insisted that the Dragonborn stop the war temporarily so he wouldn't have to fear an under-handed attack from either side. So a meeting had to be held on the neutral ground of High Hrothgar so that a truce could be made. The Greybeard's were notified and the Breton sent to invite the heads of the fighting factions.

Whiterun's Jarl had been dancing the middle line of the civil war, not taking either side. Alyssa could somewhat respect that; she had no intention of joining in this infernal war- of course, she might damn well join Tullius's crusade if Ulfric _didn't stop looking at her like that_! She was tempted to give him a very rude hand gesture, but Sondhesa had taught her better than that. The Dragonborn could only imagine Ulfric's reaction if he knew she'd been raised by a Dark Elf.

Everyone seemed to hold her opinion in high regard, for whatever reason. Even Stormcloak asked her opinion. (No doubt trying to win her favor in the hopes of her joining his cause- ha!) She had never had to delegate before, but felt confident in her choices for the negotiations:

The Empire would receive Riften in exchange for the Stormcloaks getting Markarth. Also, the Rebels would pay restitution for a massacre on a dormant Legion posting. After more bickering and some interceding from Esbern, the terms were agreed upon. Alyssa couldn't have been happier to have it done and over with; in fact, the only thing that was more satisfying was when she was given the privilege of booting that Thalmor bitch Elenwen out into the cold at the beginning of the meeting. Galmor Stone-Fist and his precious high king had enjoyed that. Gods, why couldn't any of these fools stop fighting each other and see that Elenwen and her little flock of lackeys were the real threat? Alduin withstanding. Alyssa rubbed her eyes, irritated.

Ugh, she needed to get out of there.

Now all that was left was to head to Whiterun. Esbern pulled the Dragonborn aside as the others began to disperse. He told her of a dragon that could be called, _Ohdahviing_. She must prepare herself for the final showdown with Alduin the World-Eater, then leave for Dragonsreach.

"Dragonborn. I have no doubt you understand the seriousness of the battle you will face. That being said, I caution you not to rush into this. It is important that you… get affairs in order. Say your goodbyes, make peace with those that you must, and… take some time to enjoy yourself."

Alyssa was incredulous. It all seemed so real now. There was a good chance she wasn't coming back from where she was headed. Balimund immediately came to her mind. There was only one way she wanted to spend her last days, and that was with him. Still…

"And what of the souls that are lost in my absence? If I delay, won't I be condemning them?"

Esbern must have anticipated her, for he was ready with his answer. "Better to have lost a few souls and for you to come out triumphant, than to send you unready and risk all of Nirn."

The Dragonborn considered this, then nodded. It was true, as twisted as it was. Before she left for Whiterun, she wanted to be with Balimund. And it was time that she came clean with him. He deserved to know who she was. Who she _really_ was. It may come as a shock to the Nord, but if she never returned, he would know it wasn't because she had deserted him.

She turned to leave, when Delphine called out to her. "Dragonborn. We need to discuss Paarthurnax."

* * *

The smith and his apprentice were toiling away at the forge, much like they had before the appearance of the Breton woman. Asbjorn wiped his brow and carefully set aside the new armor. "How goes it, Balimund? Finished the blade yet?"

The Forge Master didn't seem to hear him. He was at the work bench, almost secretive in his ministrations. Curious, the apprentice came around to see Balimund's progress on- a ring? Asbjorn hadn't known him to bother with jewelry before. Items that bashed and crushed and sliced and pulverized, absolutely. But tiny, intricate adornments? Never before. After all, if people in Riften wanted jewelry, they went to Madesi.

"Balimund?" Asbjorn addressed him a little louder.

The smith's head whipped up. "Oh, ah… what do you need, Asbjorn?"

"What is that you're working on?" The apprentice leaned forward, attempting to get a better look at the silver band. He saw a flash of diamond before Balimund secured it out of sight. He looked up at his master, more curious than ever. "May I see it?"

"It's not done."

"Who's it for?" It had been an innocent question, but it didn't keep Balimund from looking away sheepishly. When he didn't answer, the Fire-Tamer's confusion grew. He laughed a little. "What is the big deal? If you're afraid it doesn't look right, I won't judge you for it. I've never seen you make rings. I'm sure it looks fine. If not, maybe we can figure it out together?"

Balimund shook his head and sighed. "I just… I have to do this on my own."

Asbjorn looked incredulous. "What on Nirn for? You're acting as if-" Whatever the apprentice was about to say died on his lips as a new idea came to him. His eyebrows flew up.

Balimund looked uncomfortable as The Fire-Tamer's eyes searched him for some sort of clue. A smile slowly appeared on Asbjorn's face, realization hitting him. The smith knew he'd been found out.

"Balimund… is that some sort of Band of Matrimony?"

Resigned, Balimund pulled the ring back into view. He held it up for Asbjorn to inspect, who took it carefully. The band was made of silver as he had suspected. It was delicate and small, with a flawless diamond resting within the band. It was fairly well done. The smith rubbed the back of his head anxiously.

"… In High Rock, a ring is given before the wedding takes place. It is given as a token and as a declaration." Balimund looked squarely at Asbjorn, waiting for some joke or for him to laugh at him. Instead, the apprentice smiled warmly at his master, clapping him on the back. "She'll love it, Balimund. Congratulations!"

"You don't think I am insane? That it is far too soon to be giving her something like this?"

Asbjorn finally did laugh. "If that night all those weeks ago stood for anything, it was only a matter of time." The smith sighed at being reminded of the night he still couldn't quite remember where he had apparently carried a maniacally giggling Alyssa to the altar. Thank the Gods for the priest's good sense to deny them.

Growing serious, the apprentice handed the ring back. "Any word from her?" The smith was about to answer when a Stormcloak soldier interrupted them.

"Balimund of the Scorched Hammer? The High King Ulfric Stormcloak is in need of your services." The soldier motioned them inside. The two men exchanged glances before following, Balimund pocketing the ring.

The Stormcloak courier wasted no time in relaying his message to the smith. "King Ulfric has requested that you depart for Solitude in time for the King Olaf Festival." Here the soldier handed Balimund a letter with the details. He read as the Nord continued on. "He wishes for you to observe General Tullius and Jarl Elisif the Fair at the festival. You are not to engage them, merely watch and report."

"What does he hope to gain from this?" Asbjorn asked, his brows furrowed.

The courier shrugged. "He did not say, but did say that your efforts will be rewarded. He is also paying for your carriage and room at the local inn." Here he handed Balimund a sack of gold. "By the way, he sends a warning: the Imperials have gained this hold. Be on your guard." Both men exclaimed. "What? How?"

"It seems that a temporary truce has been issued by the Dragonborn in order to stop Alduin. Not sure how that is supposed to help, but negotiations resulted in an exchange of holds. The Imperials are hot on my feet as we speak. I must go before they learn I am not a guard here."

He saluted, then left. The two men exchanged looks again. As much as a relief it was to know that the war was on hold, having the enemy in their city was dangerous. Still, if it helped the Dragonborn stop the World-Eater…

Balimund read the letter a second time, then laid it and the gold on the table, eyeing both warily. It all couldn't have come at a worst time. The festival was in four days. He had hoped to take Alyssa somewhere pleasant and present her with the ring. She had yet to return and with this new order, he may not get to see her for some time.

Both men exited solemnly. Balimund looked up to see if the courier had been right about the quick arrival of Legion soldiers. Instead, he was gifted with the sight of a familiar and well-missed Breton standing ten feet away.

Alyssa smiled at the sight of the sooty, handsome Nord. Mara, she had missed him. She dropped her heavy pack and rushed towards him eagerly, any etiquette forgotten.

He picked her up off the ground, hugging her tightly. He buried his face into her neck, inhaling deeply. Vanilla icing and lilacs. "Gods, I have missed you." He pulled back and kissed her tenderly. What he wouldn't give to be able to stop time at this exact moment. No war, no dragons. Just the two of them together.

Separating for air, the Nord set Alyssa back on the ground, but refused to let her go. She smiled up at him before addressing the apprentice. "Hello, Asbjorn."

The Fire-Tamer was _not_ going to cry, no matter how much the soot in his eye was bothering him. He hurriedly rubbed at the offending eye and quietly returned the greeting. "Hello, Alyssa. Glad to see you're back in one piece. Svana's been worried about you. I'll fetch her; she'll want to see you for herself." Asbjorn left, getting a little choked up from… the fumes.

"Everything go alright?"

She turned back to answer Balimund. In truth, it had been a nightmare. Not only was she expected to take on Alduin, but the Blades had asked her to murder Paarthurnax! They called it 'justice', but the ancient dragon had been nothing but kind to her, and helped Alyssa not only master a few thu'ums, but also made her feel as much a part of his world as he was in hers. Delphine and Esbern threatened to no longer help her if she refused to 'do the right thing'. To Oblivion with them! The Graybeards sympathized, and commended her for her choice.

"It went as well as it could have." In this moment, none of it mattered. She was home! And Balimund… "… I've missed you, too."

Here the Forge Master gave her another gentle squeeze. He was tempted to hoist her over his shoulder and carry her to the Temple of Mara that very second. He couldn't stand the thought of another minute passing without her being his wife. Life was too short to wait. Still, he wanted to do this right. He had read about Breton marriage customs from a pamphlet one of the priests had supplied him with. He was going to ask her to be his in a way she would understand and enjoy.

Realization dawned on him. The festival! He could take her to the King Olaf burning. He had heard it was a very popular event, with food, wine, and music. She would love it. He would carry out his mission first, then when they could be alone, he would ask her to make him the happiest man on Nirn.

"I know you've probably had your fill of travel, but there is a festival in Solitude I am attending. Would you honor me with your company?" He asked warmly.

Her smile faltered for a split second. "The King Olaf Festival?"

"Aye. If you would like to. I hear it is very entertaining."

Alyssa bit her bottom lip. She knew all about the festival. She had saved it. In fact, they had increased the number of times it was held in a season because of the success of its return. It was also quite conveniently right next to her house. Her other house. One of them.

She really needed to tell Balimund about herself. There was so much he didn't know, it wasn't right. The festival _would_ provide a light and jolly atmosphere; perfect for dropping a thunderbolt in the form of _'I am the Dragonborn'_. She forced her smile to return.

"I would love to. When do we leave?"

"We'll leave in two days. We'll arrive the day of the festival. We can tour the city while we wait for the evening's events."

She stood on her toes to give the Nord a long, slow kiss. Neither realized they had shared the same thought in that moment:

_It will be perfect._


	11. Chapter 11

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 11

Balimund and Alyssa had barely left each other's company since her return, only separating long enough to sleep. She told him stories of her journey (holding back Dragonborn-related details, of course) while he fussed over her dangerous lifestyle. He knew she was a strong and cunning woman, but he also knew no matter what, he would worry. The dangers of Skyrim were nothing to be taken lightly. But she was back, and that was all that mattered.

The day of their departure arrived, and the two left for the stables. Asbjorn and Svana helped them carry their belongings and load them into the back of the carriage. It seemed Alyssa was packing light compared to the Nord. Balimund was curious and had almost asked her about it, but shrugged it off. She knew what she was doing.

The smith had leaned down to whisper to the Breton woman that the carriage was private; no one would be getting on or off but the two of them. She grinned up at him, leaning close so only he could hear her. "Why, Master… do you intent to have your way with me for all of Kynareth's children to see?" She was being playful, he knew. It didn't stop the shiver that went down his spine at her words.

"I wouldn't dream of compromising you, my dear… but I would be lying if I said I didn't plan on stealing a few kisses." Here he illustrated by doing just that. She would have deepened the kiss if the carriage driver hadn't approached. Sigaar explained the route they would take. They would ride straight there but for one stop-over in Whiterun, long enough to rest the horse and for them to get something to eat.

Alyssa bit her lip. If she had been honest with Balimund from the start, she could have invited him to Breezehome to meet her most-beloved housecarl, Lydia. Instead, she would have to sneak away long enough to pick up a few things and chat with the Nord woman who had been her sword and shield nearly a year.

Balimund climbed into the carriage, then gently pulled Alyssa up and in as well. They said their goodbyes to the younger couple. Alyssa was bewildered at Svana's sobbing. The Nord girl had been smiling and weeping at them since they'd left the forge, Asbjorn quietly chastising her to be still. The Breton couldn't figure it out, but left it alone. Svana said she was fine; better than that even. The carriage rolled away from the stable, the tavern maiden and apprentice waving until they were out of sight.

* * *

The ride to Whiterun was pleasant. The trees were lush and green, swaying in the soft breeze. The air was almost warm, but it didn't stop the smith from pulling the Breton closer. She burrowed into him, laying her head on his chest. She never wanted the ride to stop. Let them stay this way, in this moment forever. He cupped her face with his free hand, lifting tenderly to look into her eyes. Gods, this man was… everything. He was everything to her. When she fought that black-winged demon, she would be fighting for Balimund. Not Skyrim, not Tamriel. Him.

The smith leaned down and captured her lips. He had laughed inwardly the first time he had recognized the taste of honey when kissing Alyssa. She was perfect. If only they could force time to speed up so they could be at the festival. They would laugh and dance, then he would get on his knee and ask her to be his forever. He buried the thought of Alyssa's allegiance and duty to Nocturnal; here on Nirn, for as long as they lived, she would be his. And when her time came, he would fight tooth and nail to keep her soul. After all, her soul was _his_ soul. Nocturnal had no claim on him.

Their kisses seemed to have some magic to them, for what felt like a few minutes had been hours, the sun sitting close to the western horizon. The carriage driver announcing their arrival to Whiterun. They dismounted and entered the city. Sigaar promised to watch their belongings, but Alyssa took her pack inside. She also pulled the hood of her dark green cloak up, concealing her face.

Balimund's brow furrowed. "Everything all right?"

She peeked at him, and smiled warmly. "Yes. Just a little sunny for my taste. Balimund, I am going to go see an old friend. I'll be back in time to leave again. She and I have… private matters to discuss." She felt guilty for being deceptive, but she couldn't risk him finding out who she was before she told him herself. "Enjoy some supper. I hear the Bannered Mare is wonderful."

With that, she turned and left for a house barely 30 feet from where they had been standing together. Without knocking, the Breton walked inside. He sighed. That had been… strange. Perhaps this friend was an old lover? No, she said it was a 'she'. And he wasn't going down that road. He trusted her. She would never keep something important like that from him, or do anything to hurt him. Whoever it was, it was none of his business. Who knows, maybe she'd tell him if he didn't press it?

Balimund looked at a tanned Imperial working the local forge. It might be pleasant to talk shop with a fellow smith, but being in an Empire hold had many risks. He couldn't be too careful. Best to not speak to anyone. Just eat and when Alyssa returned, they could head out. He reached into his pocket, tracing the ring with his finger. He hoped she would like it. He believed she had a preference for silver; she wore a silver ring with a ruby, if that was any indication.

Just another half day's journey and they would be in Solitude. They could eat breakfast, walk around, and wait for the festival. He would also choose a vantage point for observing the Jarl of Solitude and the famous General Tullius. They would no doubt choose a secluded, high place to watch the festivities. Gods, he hoped Ulfric Stormcloak knew what he was doing. What good would it do to know where these people were during a festival? These annual events could hold little benefit for the High King.

Lydia had been happy to see her Thane safe. She had seen her a few short weeks ago, when the Dragonborn had petitioned for the Jarl's assistance. There were no formalities between the two, and they embraced each other warmly. "Alyssa! What brings you here?"

The Breton smiled warmly. "Hello, Lydia. I am just here for a stopover. I am taking a carriage to Solitude for the Festival."

"Where is your horse?" Alyssa had left her black mare, Ebony, at the Riften stable. She had rode the poor beast across Skyrim, and it needed a long rest from outrunning trolls and tromping up the sides of mountains.

The Thane blushed, her smile sheepish. "I… I am not traveling alone."

This would have been nothing to Lydia; her Thane had a few others in her service. But the way Alyssa had looked when she said it spoke volumes. The housecarl's eyebrow quirked. "Oh?"

The two sat down as the Dragonborn described the smith and all that had transpired. Lydia couldn't believe it! "So… what is he to you?"

Alyssa flushed, looking out the window. "He… I love him. Very much. It frightens me how much."

Lydia put a hand over her Thane's. "And he? Does he feel the same?"

"I don't know. I think so… I hope so." Alyssa would be devastated if he didn't return her feelings. She had fallen hard for the smith. If he changed his mind… no, he wouldn't. He returned her affection and held her the way a man ought to. She was being irrational.

"Who of you is wearing the amulet?" Lydia's question puzzled her.

"Amulet?"

Lydia looked incredulous at first, but her expression softened. The Dragonborn was a Breton; she obviously had no clue about Nordic marriage customs. And if the man was unsure of her Thane's feelings…

Lydia rose and went to her room, returning with a golden amulet, a blue stone within the symbol of Mara hanging from the center. She handed it to Alyssa. She looked at her housecarl confused. "An amulet of Mara?"

The Nord woman nodded. "In Skyrim, our custom is when a person wants to be married, they wear this amulet. Suitors will recognize the amulet, and express their desire to wed the wearer. If you wear this, he will know you are interested."

Alyssa's eyebrows flew up. "What? I had no idea… but, I can't do that!"

It was Lydia's turn to be confused. "Why not? You said you love him, so…?"

Alyssa stared at the amulet, tracing the stone with her fingers. She inhaled deeply. "What if… when I fight Alduin, what if I… don't come back?" Alyssa looked up sadly. "I couldn't do that to him. Promise to be his only to die."

Lydia smiled reassuringly. "My Thane- Alyssa. We Nords have a saying. 'Life is too short.' Our lives are regularly filled with danger and death, and we have learned to appreciate those precious moments where we are happy. Don't let your fears hold you back. Besides, I am sure he understands the risks."

Alyssa looked away, ashamed. "I haven't told him yet."

"Told him what?" Lydia's brow furrowed. Alyssa looked at her meaningfully. The housecarl's eyes went wide. "He doesn't know you're-"

"I am going to tell him. At the King Olaf Festival."

Lydia shook her head. "How does he not know you're the Dragonborn? Somebody would have-"

"There is only one in Riften who knows who I am. To the rest of the city, I am just Alyssa Wulfe." The Dragonborn thought of Brynjolf. She hoped her note reached him. She wasn't about to face him after their last encounter.

The Nord woman considered this, before nodding to herself. "Right. Wear it anyway. If he loves you, he won't care who you are. And he'll want to marry you, Alyssa. Who wouldn't?" Here Lydia smiled again. "And you're not going to die. You are the Dragonborn! Besides, you have me and the others to help you."

Alyssa imagined a life with Balimund. She would be lying if she said she hadn't wanted that almost as long as she had known him. She sighed and placed the necklace over her head. She tucked it carefully beneath her tunic. She would wait for the right time to reveal it, if she ever got the nerve.

"Lydia… why do you have this?"

It was Lydia's turn to look away. "I had wanted a man, once. He died before I could show it to him." Alyssa put her hand on Lydia's, who took it, smiling sadly. "All the more reason for you not to wait, My Thane."

* * *

Balimund was waiting in the carriage when Alyssa arrived. He pulled her in and held her close. He signaled for Sigaar to go, and looked down at his hidden treasure. She smiled up at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Something had shifted in her. She seemed a little distant, and although he held her warmly against him, Alyssa didn't respond as she had when they had first left. Confused, Balimund remained silent the rest of the ride there.

The night had passed quietly. Alyssa had fallen asleep, but her face was contorted, showing signs of discomfort. When she began to whimper, Balimund pulled her closer, hoping to give her comfort in her sleep. What had happened in Whiterun?

When they arrived in Solitude, she seemed even more distant, looking around warily and hardly speaking. Breakfast had been awkward. The smith was disappointed. He had hoped the trip would be pleasant, and lead to a pleasant evening. He tried to focus on the mission to distract his growing uneasiness.

...

Alyssa was afraid that any moment someone would recognize her and give her away before she could tell Balimund about her status here. She had been lucky no one had recognized her in Whiterun. But there were bards, soldiers, and citizens everywhere; even Jarl Elisif was expected to be at tonight's festival. She knew Balimund was getting upset with her. She had been so quiet since their arrival for fear of someone recognizing her voice.

Just before the festival, Alyssa excused herself, heading for Proudspire Manor, her home away from home. She hated doing this to Balimund, but she hadn't seen Jordis much longer than Lydia, and owed her an explanation.

Balimund retired to his room. He had debated sharing a room with Alyssa, fearing she would take it as his being too forward. He had enough coin for two rooms, but she had insisted on paying for her own. That had to be a bad sign. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed. He was frustrated; he was trying his best to show her a good time, but she seemed to want nothing to do with him. Had his first fear of her meeting a lover in Whiterun been right? Was she regretting this?

The time for the festival had arrived, and Alyssa had returned to the Winking Skeever in time to meet him. She still had her cloak on and pulled up, but she had exchanged her leather pants and tunic for a green dress with red trim. She had the Amulet of Mara on, but it was hidden beneath her cloak.

Balimund, dressed in his finer merchant clothes, greeted her hesitantly. The blue tunic brought out his eyes, the gold trim complimenting his fair hair. Gods, he was handsome. She smiled a little and took his arm. They walked in silence to the cobblestone square where the burlap scarecrow awaited his effigy.

Balimund scanned the crowd for any signs of the Jarl and her lap dog general. Alyssa noticed this. "Looking for someone?"

"Hm? Oh… no." He hated lying to her, but he didn't want to put her in danger. After tonight, he should probably tell her about his involvement with the Rebellion. She would be surprised to be sure, but knew she would see reason. It was clear that the Empire was unfit to rule here.

He continued to scan the crowd when he saw a familiar face. One of the smiths he had worked with back in Windhelm. Beirand, wasn't it? Had Ulfric called him for the same mission? The smiths made eye contact, The Solitude Forge Master just as surprised to see Balimund. Instead of greeting or saluting him, his eyes narrowed. He motioned for a Legion guard.

"Shit." Balimund cursed, realizing that Beirand had been sent on a mission, but not here, and not by Ulfric. Just as Balimund had been assigned to spy, so had the Solitude smith- for the Empire. Two guards approached the couple, one man seizing Balimund's arm. "Alright, Stormcloak, you're coming with us."

"What is the meaning of this!?" Alyssa made to move for the guard, but the other one held her back. "Stay back, miss. This man is one of Ulfric Stormcloak's spies. He has been identified by a loyal citizen of the Empire." Balimund struggled enough to warrant both guards to hold his arms none-too-gently. The crowd had started to watch them.

"Stop this!" Alyssa panicked. There had to be a mistake. Balimund was no spy! Right? But he had been acting strange since they had arrived; so serious, and methodical. Like a scout. No. He couldn't be.

"I said stop this… by order of the Thane of Solitude." Here Alyssa dropped her hood, the guards immediately recognizing her. Balimund just stared, sure he had misheard her. Did she really think they would believe that she-?

"Forgive us, Thane. But he has been identified. He must be taken to the jail to await sentencing."

"I am telling you that there has been a mistake. This man has been in my company the entire time. I have known him many years, and he is as loyal to the Empire as your so-called informant." Alyssa lied easily. She wouldn't let a headsman have at Balimund for anything.

The Legion men let go of the Nord slowly. "Forgive us, Thane. We must have been misinformed. We apologize, sir." They nodded to Balimund before leaving for the troublesome smith who'd caused the commotion. The crowd returned their attentions to the music and food.

Balimund continued to stare at Alyssa, incredulous. She twisted her hands together anxiously, not looking directly into his eyes. Gods, _why?_

"Thane?" He asked accusingly. He wouldn't have believed it if it wasn't for the immediate obedience of the guards. She was a _thane_? Of Solitude of all places! His eyes narrowed.

"Balimund, don't look at me like that. I was going to tell you-"

"When? Exactly _when_ were you going to tell me you served the very people who have oppressed my homeland? My people?"

Alyssa's head snapped up to stare at him. The events of the moment before played through her head. He… it was true! He was a Stormcloak. It showed in his anger at her allegiance. It was her turn to be upset. She spoke quietly so as not to draw attention.

"And when had you planned on telling me you were one of Ulfric's soldiers?"

Balimund squirmed a bit. "I'm not, exactly. And I was going to tell you. After tonight."

"Is this why we're here? Are you spying on Elisif?" His expression answered her. Her eyes grew wide. "Balimund… I can understand you want what is best for Skyrim, but Ulfric is not it! Trust me!"

The smith spoke before he thought. "I wouldn't expect a Breton to understand!" He immediately regretted it when he saw the look of pain etched in her features. He may as well have called her a mongrel. The dark square had taken on a molten hue, the Olaf Festival under way. The crowd cheered, except for the couple.

Her face hardened. "That's right. What do I know? I've just given up my _existence_ for Skyrim. Everything I do, I say, I think is for this land. It is just as much my home as it is yours, _Nord_." She said the last word as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. How could he say that? No…she knew that couldn't be him. It had to be Ulfric's influence.

Balimund didn't mean to hurt her, but she didn't understand. Ulfric was going to right the wrongs put upon Skyrim. "This land was once for the Nords, and must be again! We have lost so much to the Empire, sacrificed in the name of the Thalmor."

"Yes, exactly! Ulfric is only going to weaken this country and make it ripe for their picking. All he sees is that throne, and a pure Skyrim. But what of the others who call it home? What happens to them? … To me?" Her eyes bore into him.

Balimund hadn't considered that. It was true, Ulfric favored the Nords, but Skyrim was their home. And the High King wasn't without pity. He even let the Dark Elves live in Windhelm.

"Ulfric will remain loyal to those who are loyal, Nord or not. You'll see. He and the Dragonborn will regain the land-" He was interrupted by Alyssa's bitter laughter.

"Is that what he said? I can promise you that the Dragonborn will _never_ join that arrogant, coniv-"

Alyssa was interrupted by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling sound. It was unlike anything Balimund had everheard before. Not so for the Breton. The crowd exclaimed, one voice clear above their noise:

"DRAGON!"


	12. Chapter 12

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 12

The crowd scattered, desperately seeking shelter from the dragon. Most were so frightened that they were running into each other, screaming. Balimund finally spotted Jarl Elisif just as the general quickly led her away to the Blue Palace. His mission far from his mind, the smith stared at the winged monster that had perched itself on the courtyard balcony.

Pale, grey scales and black spikes were illuminated by the fire before the great beast inhaled, releasing an icy blast that extinguished the flames of the burning Olaf dummy. The creature took flight again, circling the cobblestone square.

"_HI FEN DIIN JOOR!" _The Dragon inhaled again, breathing ice towards the largest gathering of terrified citizens. Guards shouted at people to move, trying to direct them to safety.

Alyssa took on a fighting stance, despite being unarmed. Gods, she _hated_ Frost Dragons. She was a Breton; she had no resistance to the cold winds of Skyrim, let alone the deadly frost breath of the flying bastards. She moved forward, but was halted when she felt someone grab her arm.

"Run!" Balimund was attempting to get Alyssa to get out of there, but she didn't seem to want to move away. Had she lost her mind?

"Let go of me, Balimund! Help the guards get everyone to safety!"

"Don't be daft, woman! You have to get out of here!" What did she think she could do?

The dragon swooped towards the people again, screeching that horrible sound. He was toying with them; playing with his food.

"My Thane!" Alyssa and Balimund turned to see Jordis the Sword-Maiden rushing towards them, weapons in hand. She passed Alyssa her Nightingale bow and a large quiver of Ebony arrows. Damn. The shock enchantment may help, but the frost enchantment was useless against the icy beast. She needed to invest in a fire-enchanted weapon. Luckily, her skill with a bow was practically unmatched.

The Sword-Maiden equipped Alyssa's Gaulder Blackbow and her own set of arrows. She notched an arrow, awaiting her Thane's command to attack the circling dragon. Alyssa untied her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. She had absolutely no armor, but at least she was armed.

Balimund stood in awe. Alyssa showed no fear, no hesitance. She too readied her bow. The motion drew his attention to her chest, where the Amulet of Mara shimmered in the moons' lights. Is that-?

"Ready!" The Thane's voice was strong and commanding. The Dragon made to land on the ground to devour those unlucky enough to be trapped. "Fire!" They released their hold, arrows sailing into the winged monster's back. It reared back in agony, turning its attention to its attackers.

"HI FEN BIIS VOTH HIN LAAS BAANAHK!" The dragon took flight again, sweeping around to lay into them with its deadly breath.

Balimund saw a small girl huddled next to the corpse of a guard, right in the path of the approaching beast. He dashed for the girl, managing to free the steel battle axe from frozen fingers and yank her out of the way just in time to avoid the freezing blast. He tucked her into the alcove of a nearby house, out of sight. He rushed back to find the Thane and her housecarl sending arrow after arrow into the massive creature, joined by many of the guards who had finally succeeded in ushering the people out of the square.

Gods, she was amazing! Her ability to lead and command rivaled some of the best in Ulfric's regime. Still, she was without protection. He needed to get her out of there. Just as he reached her, the ailing dragon landed before the fighters. It swung its tail, knocking everyone about, including Alyssa. Slammed against the foundation of the square, she shook her head trying to clear it. Balimund had been thrown near a house on the opposite side. His newly-obtained weapon was missing.

The Dragon turned its full attention to the frail-looking Breton woman. She had been the one shouting at the mortals. She would die first. It lumbered towards her, letting her know her time had come. Finally able to see straight, the woman looked into the cold, yellow eyes of the winged demon.

Balimund stared in horror. Gods, get up, _get up_! He forced himself to stand, despite feeling unstable on his feet. He was banged up, but it mattered little when the woman he loved was looking death in the face! Staggering, he reached towards her, despite being too far away. Gods, he was too far away.

The Dragon reared its head back like a snake ready to strike. Alyssa's eyes met Balimund's briefly. In that split second, she had communicated so much to him. The last thing was:

_I'm sorry._

"YOL..." Balimund stared as Alyssa's voice shook the ground. 'No…'

"TOOR" 'It's not possible…'

"SHOL!" '… Dragonborn…'

An enormous blast of fire greeted the face of the attacking dragon. It flailed helplessly, its skin burning and charring. It fell backwards, eyes becoming sightless.

As the dragon continued to burn away, a bright, white light flowed from the remains to the Breton sitting on the ground. Gasping, her body seemed to lift slightly as her eyes closed. The light continued to swirl around her until dissipating. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking back into the present. The housecarl, fully recovered, pulled the Dragonborn to her feet. "Are you all right, my Thane?"

Alyssa nodded, then remembered Balimund. She turned towards him, the man just standing there, face deadpan. It was as if he was staring into her soul- or that of the dragon she just absorbed. She stepped in his direction, but he backed up. Her heart nearly broke at the small motion.

"Balimund?" She continued her approach slowly; this time he stayed in place. She stood a few feet in front of him, eyes full of regret. This was not how she wanted him to find out. This was the worst possible way! Everyone who witnessed her take a soul looked at her like she was just as frightening as the monster slain.

She didn't know what to say to him. It all seemed too late. Still, he deserved an explanation.

"… I found out when I was in Whiterun, when that first dragon after Alduin showed up and attacked the watchtower." She looked at the ground, her hands- anywhere but his expressionless face. She couldn't bare it. "I didn't know what was wrong with me until one of the guards said... said I was Dragonborn. Then the Greybeards called… they helped me better understand what was going on, and what I had to do… what I _have_ to do… I wanted to tell you for so long. I was going to tell you tonight…"

She looked up, unable to take his silence. "Balimund, please say something…"

Still he stared at her. Her eyes ached as she held back her fear and pain, clutching at her chest. "Balimund, _please_!"

He looked at her amulet. He could feel the ring almost burning him through his pocket. The Dragonborn. He had almost asked the Dragonborn to marry him. Gods, what a fool he was. He shook his head, trying desperately to understand everything. It was too much. He couldn't… he had to get out of there. He needed to breathe, to think… he couldn't do that here.

Alyssa watched as the Nord shook his head. He looked down, then turned in the opposite direction, heading towards the inn. She watched him until he was out of sight, then continued to stare at the space he had been. Nothing. He had said nothing to her. He couldn't even look at her! Her legs finally gave, the Dragonborn falling to the ground as tears raced down her cheeks. Jordis ran to her side. "My Thane? Are you alright?"

No, she wasn't. She felt broken. Mara, it hurt so much. Death at the claws of the dragon would have been a mercy compared to this. Unable to hold it in, Alyssa sobbed, grief racking her body.

The housecarl was at a loss. She would gladly bleed for the Dragonborn, but Jordis didn't know what to do for… this.

"Come on, My Thane." She pulled Alyssa to her feet and led her towards Proudspire Manor.


	13. Chapter 13

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 13

Balimund had returned to his room at the Winking Skeever, but sleep was not an option. He paced the floor, trying to comprehend everything he had heard and seen. The sun rose, greeting the tired Nord through the small window. He sighed, sitting on the bed and holding his head in his hands. _What in Oblivion…?_

Alyssa was the Dragonborn. As a boy he had sat mystified as his mother told stories of the once-fabled hero with the power to stop the World-Eater, Alduin. He had never dreamed that it could be anyone other than a Nord, and a man. Still, it did not bother him to know that the Dragonborn was a woman as much as the fact that she was right under his nose. He was _courting_ her!

How could Alyssa not tell him? If he could handle the fact that she was a thief and a Daedra worshiper, didn't she think he could handle this? Guilt washed over him as he remembered he _didn't_ handle it, walking away from her last night when she had tried to explain. He felt awful for doing that to her, but he didn't know what else to do at the time.

He washed his face, thoughts racing. What was he going to do? Had this new discovery changed everything?

He remembered her fight with the dragon; her courage and determination, and how she had _breathed fire_. Gods, that was… something. Then he remembered working alongside her at the Forge, and how her face lit up when she finished her first set of armor. When she had burned herself, and he held her while she used the healing spell. He thought about their first meal together, her face as she looked up at him when they were on the bed. Her smile… the smile she gave only to him.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with me?" He was so upset about what had happened that he had failed to realize that she was still Alyssa. _His_ Alyssa. What difference did it make if she was Dragonborn? It shouldn't change how he felt about her. It didn't.

He knew she hadn't come back to her room- he had been listening for her return. Balimund headed downstairs and asked the nearest person where he could find Thane Alyssa Wulfe. He was directed to Proudspire Manor, right next to the Bard's College. He ran all the way there. The guards who had survived were cleaning up the mess left by the dragon. The dead must have been buried in the night, and they were now breaking down and hauling away the bones of the slain beast.

The smith climbed the stairs and stood before the door. Talos, what would he say? He would apologize, of course. He had been a complete ass when she had tried to explain. He would make it up to her, promising her the moons if he had to. And as far as their argument before the dragon attack? He shook his head. It didn't matter. They would work it out. All that mattered was he had to see her, hold her. He banged his fist on the door. He knocked again, impatiently. He kept at it until a an armored Nord woman finally answered the door. It was the same one from last night. She must have recognized him; she was glaring daggers into his face.

Balimund rallied, unafraid of the housecarl. "I am here to see your Thane."

"And what makes you think she would want to see you?" She replied icily.

He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. Still, he had to try. "If that's so, I wish to hear it from her own lips." Here he pushed passed her into the entry way. The Manor was impressive; Alyssa had done well for herself. It baffled him that she would choose to live in a place like Riften when she could enjoy the luxuries here in Solitude. It attested to her character.

The housecarl drew her steel short sword, standing menacingly. "Get out of here! I am sworn to protect my Thane and all she owns. Don't make me have to end you."

Balimund stared the Nord down. "Quiet, girl. Just take me to your Thane. I aim to make this right, and I won't have a sprite like you stop me." He turned towards the stone stairs, ready to search Alyssa out for himself.

Jordis stared back, contemplating. He didn't seem to be a threat; he didn't even have a weapon. Besides, he'd be a fool to try and harm the Dragonborn. She sheathed her weapon, relaxing. He seemed genuine.

"She isn't here."

Balimund whipped around. "What do you mean she's not here?"

"She left shortly after you did."

The smith felt sick. Talos preserve him, he drove her away. But where? "Where?"

The housecarl shrugged. "She didn't say. She didn't say anything." Jordis had tried to get Alyssa to stay; to lie down and get some sleep. But the Dragonborn didn't seem to hear her. Her eyes were distant, as if it wasn't really her moving through the rooms and gathering supplies. She left without a word, causing the Sword-Maiden to feel fear for the first time.

Balimund ran back to the inn, gathered his things and rushed to the stables. He looked all over for Sigaar, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Balimund?"

The smith turned to see a Nord man sitting atop a carriage. The driver greeted him kindly. "I am Thaer. The Thane has ordered me to take you back to Riften at your convenience. The fare is paid in full. Are you ready, sir?"

"Where is she?" Balimund was really starting to worry. Would she have gone home to Riften? But then why wouldn't she just stay here, at her other house?

"Not sure. She took another carriage." Sigaar.

Balimund didn't have a lot of options. He could try to find her, but that could take weeks! And he wasn't guaranteed to find her. Skyrim was a large country, with plenty of places for a person who didn't want to be found. He could go back to Riften and wait for her… if she ever came back. A thought occurred to him. Sigaar would eventually have to return to Riften.

"Take me home."

* * *

The Jarl of Whiterun still couldn't believe it. There was a dragon- a real, honest-to-gods _dragon_ in his keep. The Dragonborn had called for it, using a Shout to get its attention. The massive beast answered, and a fiery battle ensued until the dragon was beat, the guards immediately dropping the wooden yoke on it before it could escape. The only thing more frightening than the winged monster was the Dragonborn. The way she had battled, her face deadpan as she sent arrow after relentless arrow into the dragon. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater almost felt sorry for this _Odahviing._

Alyssa had proven dominance over the red dragon, who agreed to fly her to Alduin's Keep if she would free him from his humiliating position. Odahviing explained that Alduin had retreated to Sovngarde in order to replenish his strength with the souls of the fallen. She might have hesitated to trust the red dragon, but she had no fear. She felt dead inside already; so what if her body followed?

She wouldn't end her own life, or put herself in harm's way deliberately; too many were counting on her. Still, it mattered little to her if she didn't return. She thought about Balimund. She wanted to be angry with him, hate him. But she couldn't. He was right to leave her. She was dangerous, and would only cause him pain and trouble. Shoving her thoughts of him away, she focused on the task at hand.

She agreed to free Odahviing. She was ready. Wearing her Dragonscale armor and armed with the Nightingale bow, she gave her farewells to the Jarl and his court mage. The yoke was lifted, freeing the massive beast. Surprisingly, he didn't turn and try to eat her when she mounted him. He flapped his enormous wings, sending gusts of wind and dust into the air. Taking to the skies, the Dragonborn held tight as Odahviing headed towards the fortress of the World Eater.

The dragon within her was in ecstasy. She was flying. She had dreamed about doing this many times, only to wake up and find it wasn't real. It was difficult wishing to soar in the skies but having no wings to do so. Living as a mortal with a dragon's soul only made her feel more alone than she already was. But in this moment... she finally felt free.


	14. Chapter 14

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 14

How can the most infamous hero in all of Skyrim just disappear?

Balimund arrived in Riften and headed straight for Honeyside. The building was dark and lifeless. She wasn't back. Neither was Sigaar. The carriage driver was his only hope of knowing where Alyssa had gone. He would just have to wait for the man's return so he could ask him.

Asbjorn and Svana had been waiting at the Scorched Hammer, expecting to greet a betrothed and smiling couple. Instead they received a forlorn Balimund. He dropped his pack by the door and sat at the small table, looking lost. Asbjorn and Svana exchanged worried looks before surrounding the smith.

"Balimund… what happened?" Asbjorn placed a hand on the Nord man's shoulder.

"… I…" Gods, where did he begin?

He relayed the story in full, including Alyssa's many titles. The young couple was shocked, to say the least. They did their best to assure him that she would be back; she had to. Her life was here, no matter how many homes she had in Skyrim. The Forge Master nodded, but didn't seem convinced.

"She loves you, Balimund. She'll come around." Svana patted the smith's other shoulder.

Outside, a shadow crossed the door. The thief had heard enough.

* * *

Brynjolf read the letter Alyssa had sent him for the hundredth time. How could she just cast him aside like that? Like he was nothing to her!? The red-headed man paced the walkway of the Ragged Flagon. Everyone was asleep except the second-in-command. He re-read the letter.

She had told him she was leaving, but she would return in a weeks' time. She also warned him never to attempt anything like he did in the Flagon again. It was unwelcome, and never would be.

He crumpled the letter in his hand. It was that _damn_ blacksmith. By Nocturnal, why couldn't the old man just fall over and die already? If it wasn't for him, Alyssa wouldn't be running around all over creation. True, she had to fight the World-Eater, but after that she would come home and take her rightful place as the Guild Master, at his side!

That smith didn't even deserve her. Brynjolf had known what Alyssa was long before he did. He had accepted her where Balimund had rejected her. It wasn't fair! Couldn't she see that?

He tossed the letter into the water. He braced himself on the banister, trying not to shake.

It wasn't fair…

* * *

After a restless night, Balimund rose and raced to the gate, not bothering to dress. Sigaar had returned, and greeted the bootless smith. "Good-"

"Where did she go?" Balimund had no time for pleasantries. He had to find his woman!

"Who- oh, the young lady." Sigaar scratched his chin, oblivious to the importance of his answer. "She asked to be taken to Whiterun."

"Whiterun? Are you sure?"

The carriage driver gave him a droll look. Balimund nodded. Right. Stupid question.

"I need you to take me there. I'll be back in two minutes. Be ready to leave!" Balimund shouted the rest of his request behind him, having already turned and ran back to the gates. He dressed and packed while informing the blurry-eyed apprentice where he was going.

"Good luck, Balimund! Have faith!"

The smith was in the carriage in less than the time allotted, urging the driver on. The ride seemed to take an eternity. Balimund thought over what he would say to the Dragonborn. He would grovel if need be. Talos knows she deserved better than him, but if he had a chance, he would take it. They arrived in the early evening. Balimund leapt from the back of the carriage and into the city.

He looked towards the house Alyssa had gone to when they had stopped in Whiterun. No doubt it was another one of her homes, and a housecarl would be there to greet him. If he had to fight this one to get to Alyssa, so be it.

Lydia got up from her chair to answer the incessant knocking. Pulling back the door, it revealed a tall, bulking Nord man. He had fair hair and icy blue eyes.

"You must be Balimund…" She exhaled unhappily. This man had caused a lot of trouble. Alyssa had arrived the day before, a shell of her former self. It had taken a lot of coaxing, but she finally got it out of the Breton that the smith had found out who she was before she could tell him, and he had rejected her.

"Aye. Is she here?" Balimund prayed he had found her.

Lydia shook her head. "No. And I can't tell you when she'll be back." Or if she would even be back. Alyssa had gone to fight Alduin. The housecarl had begged her to let her come with her, to aid her. But the Dragonborn had refused, and Lydia could not disobey.

Balimund looked desperate. "Please… where is she? I have to find her… Please…"

Lydia exhaled again, looking grave. She looked towards Dragonsreach. This man clearly wasn't going away. And… it seemed he had realized his mistake. But what good did it do now? Alyssa had left to fight the World-Eater last night, on the back of a dragon no less. But she hadn't returned. Neither had the dragon, for that matter.

"You can try the Jarl up at his palace." She pointed behind the Nord to the large building sitting at the top of a hill. "She was there last."

Balimund nodded, giving his thanks. He turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to the housecarl, who looked at him meaningfully. "If… if she takes you back… don't mess this up again."

He nodded solemnly. He took off across the street. The smith ran up the cobblestone steps to the long wooden bridge leading into the keep. Two guards asked him his purpose for visiting, but received no answer, the Nord pushing through the doors and heading straight for the Jarl. They followed anxiously, getting ready to draw weapons if necessary.

Balimund stood before a finely dressed older Nord. The man was reclined in his chair, head resting on his perched hand. "What can I do for you…?"

"Balimund, of Riften." The smith noticed the Dark Elf next to the Jarl whose look was menacing. Her features grew fiercer at the mention of the formerly Stormcloak-ruled city. The guards flagged both of his sides, ready to take him down if necessary.

"Well, Balimund. What can I do for you?" The Jarl looked at him curiously. This man didn't seem ready to cause trouble. He was weaponless, for one. Also, he seemed to be searching around rather than focusing on him.

"The Dragonborn… I need to see the Dragonborn."

This caused the Jarl to sit up, exchanging looks with his housecarl. "And who are you to the Dragonborn?"

"Her husband." He lied. Well, if she forgave him, he hoped to remedy that.

The Jarl looked surprised. "Didn't she tell you where she was going? What she had to do?"

Balimund shook his head. Why were they all looking at him like that?

"Balimund… she went to fight Alduin, the World-Eater." The older Nord sympathized with the smith, who looked like he'd been struck. No doubt the Dragonborn didn't tell her husband so he wouldn't worry.

"Where? Where is she?" Balimund's heart felt heavy, like it was trying to burst from his chest. Gods, why did they keep _looking at him like that_!?

"She left last night. We captured a dragon and it took her to Alduin's Fortress. She hasn't returned."

"_Where?!_ I have to find her-"

"Where she is, you cannot go." The Jarl was stern in his voice, but his eyes were sad. "She is in Sovngarde."

The Jarl continued talking, but Balimund only heard his blood pumping in his ears. She was gone. She had ran away to her death… and he had chased her there. Balimund walked out of the palace, body moving automatically. He could hear people calling after him, but he continued on. He wandered out of the city, past the carriage and down the hill. He didn't know where he was going.

Night had just settled on the world, the moons high and aurora lights were swimming in the sky. Balimund fell to his knees in a field, staring up. He pictured her, smiling broadly at him like she does. Did. Tears ran freely down his face. He couldn't remember ever crying before, even as a boy. But his heart was gone. _She was gone_.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but he felt hands pull him carefully off the ground and help him walk back towards the city.


	15. Chapter 15

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 15

Balimund had remained in Whiterun another day. The housecarl Lydia had insisted he stay, and looked after the detached man. She had grieved at the news of her Thane's death, but had rallied far better than Balimund. He had sat in front of the fire, looking far away. Lydia told stories of her Thane's heroics. While she wanted to honor the Dragonborn's memory, the smith just wanted to be left to his grief.

The trip back to Riften was a blur. When home, Balimund went to his forge and stared into the flames. They danced and licked the air, ashes floating up like snow. Everything reminded him of her. Gods, how could he feel nothing and everything all at once?

Svana had taken the news hard. Alyssa was her closest friend. Asbjorn held her as she wailed, soothing her while looking pityingly at his master. It was strange. They should be worried about their own fates; with the Dragonborn slain the World-Eater would live up to his name. Yet all they could think of was the Breton woman lost too soon.

In the weeks that passed, Balimund went through the motions of his life. He worked and ate when he had to, but his sleep was haunted with images of a dying Alyssa, or of her pain-filled dusky blue eyes, looking at him as she had that night in Solitude. Asbjorn had brought him mourner's clothes, but the smith refused them. The last thing he wanted was condolences from strangers.

Asbjorn was worried about the Forge Master. He knew these things took time, but he wasn't sure if Balimund's heart could take it much longer. The man barely ate or slept, and took to the mead much harder than he had before. But what could he say? He would do the exact same thing if something had happened to Svana.

"Balimund… I think we should make a stone… for Alyssa." The apprentice addressed Balimund, who was sitting at the table, nursing his fifth bottle. The man stiffened, then glared at Asbjorn.

"No."

"But you need to mourn her properly! You're never going to heal if you don't-"

The smith threw the table and knocked the chair back as he stood, grabbing the apprentice by his collar and shoving him roughly against a wall. "Don't you talk to me of healing! There is no healing from this!" He bellowed at the younger man.

Asbjorn remained stoic, unaffected by the older man's outburst. He stared into the smith's eyes. Balimund seemed to find himself, and put the apprentice back on the ground. He still held his collar, hands shaking. "Gods, Asbjorn… I'm sorry… I just…"

"It's alright. I don't blame you." He grabbed the smith's shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. Balimund's head hung low, eyes painful.

They made a stone that day, and placed it just outside the city wall. Tiny white flowers were placed on and around the epitaph.

* * *

The next morning, Balimund set out for Mistveil Keep to speak to the Jarl of Riften. He wanted a key so he could enter Honeyside. He wasn't sure about the fate of the property, but knew he didn't want Alyssa's belongings ransacked. He had made a few locks that he wanted to install into her chests.

The Jarl had been kind, despite her earlier dislike of the Breton. No doubt she had learned of Alyssa's role in Nirn's fate. Most had, and were on edge, waiting for the world to start burning around them. Balimund received the key, and with it the knowledge that the property was bequeathed to Svana Far-Shield.

Balimund stood before the door to Honeyside, key in hand. Gods, could he really do this? The last time he had been here was when they'd had that wonderfully disastrous dinner. Pain filling him, he shoved it down and entered the dark abode. The rooms seemed devoid of life. There hadn't been a fire in the hearth for quite some time.

His eyes swept the room, brimming with tears. He missed her so much he couldn't bare it most days. Asbjorn wouldn't let him numb himself with mead anymore; said it would kill him. Though the idea had some merit, he would never end his own life. Sovngarde didn't take cowards, and he wanted to see her again.

He set to work, moving from one room to the next. He placed anything of value inside the chests and exchanged the old locks with the special ones he and Asbjorn had crafted. The upstairs finished, Balimund went downstairs. There was an alchemist's table and shelves covered with ingredients, some of which had withered. There was an unused room next to it; he would bring all the chests down to this room and make a lock for the door. The last room had an enchanter's table and two mannequins. One was wearing leather armor with many buckles and had a hood, the other-

Balimund gulped, unable to take his eyes off of the Nightingale armor. He ran a shaky hand over the places that had been patched. He and Alyssa had fixed it together. She had been so happy to learn how to work with enchanted armor. Her small hands had carefully applied the Void salts, watching in awe as they seemed to absorb into the fabric.

A creaking floorboard above his head jolted the smith from his memories. No one was supposed to be here but him; Asbjorn was working the forge while he was away, and he hadn't yet told Svana of her newly acquired home. Balimund's eyes narrowed. There was no question about who was up there. One of those blasted thieves from the Ratway had finally come to pay their respects by carrying off their dead comrade's treasures.

Balimund quietly removed an iron mace from the wall. It glowed, enchanted with some sort of magic. He moved silently towards the mannequins, trying to hide amongst the life-like dummies in the shadows. The perpetrator was silent, but for that floor board. He had almost missed them when they came around the corner into the dark room. They were also in shadow, but he could tell they were armed with a nasty-looking dagger. They knew he was here, so he had one shot at this.

The smith roared, raising the mace to make the first strike and lunging at the intruder. The dark figure dropped low to the floor and swiped Balimund's legs out from under him. The large Nord's eyes went wide as he sailed towards the floor, landing on his back painfully. The intruder swiftly dropped on top of him, yanking the mace free of his hand and holding the obsidian dagger to his throat. Sovngarde awaited. He looked into his attacker's menacing…... dusky eyes?

Said eyes went wide in recognition of the smith.

"… Balimund?"

Balimund blinked. That voice. _Her voice_. The smith yanked the dark hood down, revealing a startled and very-much-alive Alyssa Wulfe.

They stared at each other, unmoving for what seemed like hours, but was merely seconds. Balimund reached up and cupped the Breton's cheek. She felt real. Warm and real.

Remembering her position on top of the Nord, Alyssa blushed and scooted back to get up. The smith sat up quickly and held her in place, arms wrapping securely around the skittish woman.

"Ba- Balimund, what are you doing here?" She said, struggling slightly. "Let go of me…"

Gods, it was her! She was alive! He just stared at her, emotions surging through his body in every direction. She continued to wiggle in his arms before he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. Eyes wide, Alyssa had begun to push against him, but with less enthusiasm as the kiss continued.

Balimund let her up for air, which the Breton gasped for gratefully. He laid his forehead against hers, closing his yes. Alyssa was very confused. Didn't he hate her? It had felt that way when he left her in Solitude. She attempted to free herself again, but the smith's arms were unyielding.

"I don't understand… Balimund -!"

He interrupted her with more kisses, sweet and longing, like a man drinking water after spending days in the deserts of Hammerfell. Alyssa was finding it difficult to want to fight him off. Her feelings hadn't changed; she still loved him. But it didn't remove the hurt he had caused. She pulled back. "Stop! What has gotten into you!?"

Balimund finally seemed to find his voice. "I thought… I thought I had lost you."

"You didn't. You rejected _me_, remember?" Alyssa said resentfully.

She didn't understand. A thought occurred to him. "Alduin?"

"Dead." Her face looked relieved and exhausted all at the same time. The battle was the fiercest she had ever been in, but with the aid of the original Dragonborns who had taken down Alduin the first time, they had prevailed. Nirn was safe once again.

"But… they had said you died. The Jarl of Whiterun said you had gone to Sovngarde!"

"What?" Alyssa looked confused, then realized what had happened. She shook her head. "No, I didn't die to get into Sovngarde. Alduin had a portal. I took it to Sovngarde and fought him there."

The smith slowly smiled, then began peppering the Dragonborn's face with kisses. Freeing her hands, she pushed him away from her and stood, looking angry.

"Balimund, you can't do that!"

The smith stood, looking a little dejected, but still approaching her. "Why not?"

"Because-! Because you… you _left_ me!" Her passions rising, she tried to hold back her tears.

Balimund frowned guiltily. "I know. I was a damn fool for doing that to you. Gods, Alyssa, you have no idea how much that night has haunted me, and not for the reasons you think."

He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, not wanting to break contact with her for a second, afraid she would disappear. "You didn't deserve that. I panicked, but it is no excuse. I am truly sorry." He put his cheek to hers. She was here… "I promise to never leave your side, so long as you'll have me. I have so much lost time to make up for."

Alyssa remained silent, shocked at the tender actions of the smith. He was sorry. And he wanted to be with her! Did that mean he didn't care about who she was? Could he still see her as a woman, and not the dragon slayer? Did that mean-

"The thing that haunted me the most was that I never told you that I loved you."

The Breton gasped. He pulled back and cupped her cheek, looking into her wide eyes. His own eyes shown with complete devotion. "I love you, Alyssa."

The tears spilled over, Alyssa moved by his words. She smiled at him- that smile- and pulled him to her for a searing kiss. He clutched her tightly, pouring all his love into her. They held each other like that for so long, not wanting to part even a little. There were people to see, to reassure of her existence. But for now, it was just them.


	16. Chapter 16

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 16

There was rejoicing in the town of Riften, which quickly spread to the rest of the province. The Dragonborn was alive, and Alduin the World-Eater was not. Feasts were offered and held in Alyssa Wulfe's honor. She received them kindly, albeit a little shyly. It was quieter when people didn't know who she was. Still, she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the songs and gratitude from the citizens of Skyrim.

Upon her return, both campaigns petitioned an audience with her, no doubt to ask her to join them in their fight against the enemy. General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak knew victory was assured if they could get the Hero of Skyrim to join their cause. Gifts were sent to entice the Breton, but all were returned with a notice stating that both sides were foolish to be giving the Thalmor what they wanted: division amongst the people of the Empire.

Alyssa pulled Balimund aside for a serious conversation; one she wasn't looking forward to. Still, it needed to be addressed. They sat outside on the dock at Honeyside, admiring the clear day over Lake Honrich. Alyssa stared out over the murky water as she spoke, almost afraid to face the smith.

"Balimund… I need to know how involved you are in this war."

He sighed. He knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier. "I am employed to Ulfric Stormcloak in the supply of weapons and armor. And…" Here he rubbed the back of his head anxiously. "… recently, asked to observe the Jarl of Solitude and her general."

Alyssa nodded, still looking away. "I would never ask you to deny your passion for your country. However, I want you to understand where I am coming from." The Breton spoke of the importance of trade between the Empire and Skyrim and of the Thalmor's intent to cause strife between the two lands in order to conquer both when weakened. Balimund could see the logic in her words, but it didn't change the fact that the Nords were being oppressed.

"Alyssa, the right to worship Talos should never have been on the table for negotiations. The Empire rolled over on us just to make peace with the Elves. They left us no choice."

Alyssa turned to the smith, cheeks pink. "Not all Elves are Thalmor, Balimund. Never forget that. Don't allow Ulfric's prejudice to taint you." She spoke fervently, upset and thinking of her adoptive mother. "I am the person I am today because of an Elf."

The smith looked confused but not repulsed, so she went on. "My mother and father died when I was four. Sondhesa was a close friend of the family- she _was family _in our eyes. She raised me as best she could in the Breton fashion, and with a bit of Dunmer heritage." She smiled, but her eyes held sadness. She remembered very little about her birth mother, and did not feel her loss as much as she had Sondhesa's.

"How did your parents die?" The Forge Master asked gently. There was no harm in a little diversion from such a heavy subject, though this one might not be much better. When she didn't answer right away, Balimund reached over and held her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He was here to listen, and listen he would.

"My father… he was a commander for the Legion in Wayrest." She looked away again when Balimund's eyebrows shot up. She knew that might be a sore subject, but it needed to be said. After all, he deserved to know everything about her.

"They were coming back home from the Imperial City when they were ambushed. The Legion said it was bandits, but… nothing was taken." It had been a great mystery and a terrible loss to the Wayrest Legion. There had been whispers of it being an underhanded attack by the Thalmor, despite the signed peace treaty between them and the Empire, known as the White Gold Concordat. Sondhesa relayed this to Alyssa when she was older, warning her never to trust a High Elf with an agenda.

"My father was a good man, and a great leader. Yes, he was a Legionnaire. But we descended from a Nord woman, and my family has worshipped Talos amongst the other gods."

Alyssa looked back towards the city, nodding her head. "Those Legion soldiers are mostly Nords. And I would bet my life that they're all still worshiping Talos as well."

"Let's not bet anything so precious, Love." He smiled slightly, but frowned when he remembered the topic. "That may be, but Talos worship is punishable by death. Are you suggesting people continue to take such risks just to please the Empire?"

"Of course not! But you have to remember; the Empire worshipped Talos once, and lost just as much. They did what they had to in order to survive, otherwise much more would have been lost."

Balimund was conflicted. With this new information, it was hard to hold the same anger he had for the Empire. His allegiance lied with his people, but it seemed his people were scattered.

The Breton looked thoughtful. "But for a few, I do not think anyone would report his neighbor for holding to his beliefs. And those that would… there are ways of dealing with them."

Not wanting there to be distance between them, the smith swiftly pulled a surprised Alyssa into his lap, holding her against him tenderly. She sighed, tension immediately leaving her body. It was a great comfort to know that nothing would come between them.

Balimund spoke softly. "Lyss... I can't promise I won't help to arm my brothers and sisters when they call upon me. This is how we Nords handle our struggles in life; we fight." He cupped her cheek and made her look at him. "But I can promise my spying days are over. And, I can promise to always love you. No matter what." He sealed his words on her lips, playfully nipping her bottom lip.

Alyssa gasped, desire pooling in her belly. Gods, she loved it when he did that. She tentatively licked his lip, receiving an appreciative groan. His hands went up her sides, stopping just beneath her breasts. To her disappointment, they went back down, though the sensation was still wonderful. Balimund seemed adamant about taking his time to court her. She sighed into his mouth, causing the Nord to chuckle.

"So… descended from a Nord, did you? That explains these beautiful curves." He continued to run his hands appreciatively up and down her body, but always stopping short of where she wanted to be touched the most. She whimpered, biting his bottom lip in retaliation. This only caused him to laugh. "Easy, Little Dragon…"

The Breton decided that two could play this game. She wiggled slowly against him, her backside rubbing against his groin sensually. Balimund hissed, clutching her against him tighter to prolong the heavenly pressure. She smirked, repeating the movement. The Nord groaned and thrust involuntarily. "Gods, woman… you're killing me." Balimund whispered huskily.

He would be lying is he said he wasn't tempted to pick her up and carry her inside to the bed, giving them both what they desired. But he wanted her first time to be special. She had never told him, but it was obvious the Breton girl had never known a man's touch. The idea of fulfilling her was both satisfying and nerve-racking.

Balimund noticed the sun. "Come, Little Dragon. The Fire-Tamer and his Far-Shield are expecting us for supper." He lifted her easily and threw her half over his shoulder, resulting in a dangling and giggling Dragonborn. As he headed for the door she pinched his thigh, receiving a yelp and a slap to her bottom as repayment.

* * *

Alyssa returned to her apprenticeship at the forge. She was never happier then when she was working a new piece of metal. She was hammering out a fired ebony ingot when Balimund came out of the Scorched Hammer. She looked up and gave him a broad smile. He winked at her before walking over to Asbjorn. The younger Nord came up to her after a moment and commented on her work. "That looks great, Dragonborn. Keep it up!"

The Breton rolled her eyes. "Lose the name, Fire-Tamer, or you'll be on the anvil next."

Asbjorn laughed and backed up towards the house, hands up defensively. He walked inside as Balimund approached to see her progress. "Not bad, Little Dragon. What is it going to be?"

She pouted slightly, giving the Nord a reproachful look. "It's obviously a helmet."

He leaned in, pretending to inspect it closer. "So it is." He gave her another wink and turned back to the workbench to finish a pair of Dwarven Boots. A few minutes passed before he spoke again. "Oh… Love, I think I left my tongs by you. Could you bring it to me?"

"Sure." She set down her tools and searched out the smith's. Sure enough, it was next to the anvil. She picked it up, but stopped short when something caught the sun's reflection. She brought it closer to her eyes to inspect.

There, hanging from the clamped tongs, was a silver diamond ring.

Wide-eyed, Alyssa slowly freed the small ornament. It was beautiful. The diamond glinted in the sunlight, displaying its perfect cut. The silver band was smooth and thin; made for a woman. She turned to ask Balimund about it, but he was no longer at the workbench. Instead, he was kneeling in front of her, hope shining in his face.

"Alyssa… I know I am not the easiest man to deal with. Gods know I've put you through Oblivion. But I promise to make it up to you for the rest of our lives." He took her free hand in his, bringing it to his lips briefly. "Will you be my wife?"

The Dragonborn's eyes brimmed with tears. Mara, was this really happening? Balimund was proposing to her as a Breton man would. Lydia had told her about Nordic marriage customs, in which an Amulet of Mara was worn. Alyssa was touched at the smith's thoughtfulness. She gave him her brightest smile and nodded eagerly.

Balimund grinned widely, quickly placing the ring on her finger before sweeping her into his arms and spinning her around. There wasn't a happier man on Nirn. She laughed, arms tightly wrapped around his neck. He stopped abruptly and kissed her again and again, his lips firm and passionate.

The Breton felt dizzy but blissful. Their kisses were interrupted by loud applause, the market place witness to the joyous couple. Asbjorn and Svana stood in the doorway, the latter in tears, or course. The Fire-Tamer held the overjoyed tavern girl. 'Finally,' he thought wryly. 'Now maybe I can finally ask Svana.'


	17. Chapter 17

Forging the Heart's Desire

Chapter 17

Alyssa entered the Cistern, steeling herself for the conversation she was about to have. She scanned the room, acknowledging greetings from passersby. Not finding her intended target, she headed for the training room. Brynjolf was there, practicing on a dummy with his favorite daggers. She inhaled deeply, and walked out of the shadow of the archway.

Brynjolf stopped mid-attack when he saw the Dragonborn enter. A feeling of dread washed over him. The look on her face spoke volumes: whatever she had to say, he wasn't going to like it. He gave her an icy look. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Lass?"

Alyssa straightened, looking at the thief with determination. "We need to talk."

"So, talk." He sheathed the daggers and crossed his arms, leaning against his burlap victim.

The Breton's heart felt heavy, not wanting to cause someone she considered family any pain. But she had made a decision, and she wasn't about to back down. "In a few weeks, I will be heading to Windhelm. Delvin has given me one last job that he assures me will put the guild back to its rightful glory."

"Why wait so long?" His eyes narrowed at her. If she had the assignment, why delay? It was time to get things moving so she could be promoted to Guild Master.

"Because I… I'm getting married." Her lips were pressed thin, eyes shining with pity.

The thief looked as if he had been struck. His arms dropped to his sides limply. He shook his head, incredulous. "No…"

"Brynjolf, don't look at me like that." She twisted her hands anxiously. Gods, this was awful. The thief looked miserable. "I promise, the guild will be restored… and after that, Delvin will step up as Guild Master."

Brynjolf's eyes widened. She was leaving the guild?! The man began to shake, fury rolling through him like a wave. "You can't..."

"The choice is not yours, Brynjolf. It is mine. I am grateful for all that you have done, and you all mean so much to me." Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "But I want to start fresh with Balimund. I hate the thought of not seeing any of you, but I know that my leaving will cause a rift."

"Then don't leave." Here the thief grabbed her shoulders, squeezing tightly. "Don't leave me."

"Bryn, stop. Don't do this." She winced out of pity more than pain from the Nord's grip.

"But I love you!" The Nord bellowed. How could she do this? After all he had done for her, what he had made her into? Didn't that mean anything to her? Where was her loyalty? He was here, first; _she _was his, _first_!

"No, you don't. You may love what I am, but you don't love me." His affection didn't start until after he knew she was the Dragonborn. It was the idea of her that he was so attracted to. "You have to understand. I don't feel that way about you. I love you as a guild brother; nothing more."

Brynjolf squeezed hard, venom lacing his voice. "That _bastard_ could never make you happy. Not like I can. I can give you the world on a silver platter. Jewels, gold, finery; anything your heart desires!"

"Balimund is my desire." Her voice was cold, anger glowing in her eyes. If this is how he wanted to act, so be it. "Delvin has already accepted the position. He will make a fine leader, since you don't want to step up. And watch how you address my betrothed. I won't allow you to disgrace him again."

"Don't do this, Lass…" His eyes searched hers desperately. Nocturnal, he couldn't take this. Not this. "You'll regret it, mark my words…"

She stepped out of his grip, backing up towards the door. "No, don't _you_ do this. Gods, Brynjolf, I want you in my life, all of you. But I can't. Not when you're like this. And not when I know it could come down on Balimund, should something go wrong." She gave him one last look of pity. "I'll return in a few weeks." With that, she left.

Brynjolf stood there shaking, hands balled into fists at his side. Nocturnal take her! She was too damn blind to see that he was what was best for her. Instead, she loved that retched bastard. She belonged with him. They were right for each other!

The thief was struck by a thought; something Mercer had said once:

"_We're thieves. We lie, cheat and steal to further our own end."_

* * *

The Temple of Mara had been decorated with red ribbons and mountain flowers of all shapes and colors especially for the wedding of the Dragonborn. It was to be a small ceremony, despite many Jarls expressing their desire to celebrate the Breton's nuptials. In the end many housecarls, friends and a few citizens of Riften attended. Balimund awaited his bride anxiously. He had his hair pulled back and tied, and was dressed in fine clothes, the rich blue cloth making him a charming groom.

Asbjorn stood by his side, wearing his best merchant clothes. He clapped the smith's back, attempting to knock the nerves out of him. Svana smiled across the altar from him, wearing a lovely green dress and holding a small bouquet of blue mountain flowers. It had been sweet of Balimund to want to hold a traditional Breton ceremony. His thoughtfulness attested to what a great husband he would be to her friend.

A few bards had been standing by the door with instruments ready, waiting for the signal that the bride had arrived. Sure enough, the priestess waved her hand at them, looking out the door. The group counted quietly before playing softly. The Breton wedding march filled the air of the temple, causing all to turn towards the entrance. Two figures appeared in the doorway.

One was a young Nord man with dark blonde hair, wearing a red tunic, leather pants and fine boots. Balimund understood him to be the man that helped Alyssa escape Helgen when Alduin had attacked. The smith knew he was an Imperial Legion soldier, but today, that didn't matter.

On the man's arm was the most beautiful dragon Balimund had ever seen.

Dressed in white with red trim, the Breton woman looked like royalty, wearing a crown of Red and White flowers. Her hair was down, cascading auburn waves falling over her shoulders and back. Her lips were painted red to match. They were turned up in a shy smile. Her eyes stayed forward, admiring the handsome smith.

Balimund's eyes glittered, watching her approach. Gods, this woman was going to be his wife. He still couldn't believe that he was getting married, let alone to the Dragonborn. But she wasn't really the Hero of Skyrim to him; she was Alyssa. Sweet, lovely, and cheeky Alyssa.

Reaching the end of the isle, the young Nord handed the Breton over to her betrothed. Alyssa turned to kissed his cheek, smiling. "Thank you, Hadvar. I appreciate it."

"It was an honor, Dragonborn. One I know my uncle would have relished."

Alyssa nodded, smiling genuinely. She missed the Riverwood smith, but she no longer mourned Alvor. Balimund was right; he had been in Sovngarde. The old Nord was happy to see her again, and had assured the Breton that her tears were wasted on him. He also asked her to visit his family; they missed seeing her. She agreed to go back to the small town before leaving the heavenly realm. They had received her happily, asking her to stay a while. This is why so many had thought her dead; Riverwood was a small, sleepy town that got news of the province later than anywhere else in Skyrim, let alone passing it along.

Alyssa turned back to face Balimund, who grinned at her. Maramal called for their attention. "It's time."

* * *

The ceremony had been beautiful; Balimund had especially liked the Breton custom of kissing the bride, though he may have lingered much longer than was appropriate. Maramal had to clear his throat in order to bring the smith back down from the clouds. The congregation laughed and applauded the happy couple. Everyone headed in the direction of the Bee and Barb for the reception. Keerava was more than happy to provide food and drink for the Dragonborn and her guests (especially with the lovely bribe given by a few members of the Thieves Guild, a wedding present to the Breton).

Some of the thieves had shown up at the Barb to wish her well. Alyssa searched, knowing she wouldn't find Brynjolf among them. She sighed. She had hoped he would be here, and that they could be reconciled.

Her husband- gods, _husband_- held her close as they took a seat at the center of the long table, flanked my Asbjorn and Svana. They enjoyed the festivities, but as the evening wore on, they were finding it more and more difficult to keep their hands to themselves, giving gentle squeezes and heated caresses to one another. After the fifth brush of Alyssa's hand on his thigh, Balimund finally stood, pulling his new bride up with him. Asbjorn gave them a wink as they headed towards the door.

The patrons still sober enough to notice them began to cat call, hollering obscenities to the newlyweds as they hastily retreated to Honeyside. Their home. They arrived to find the house prepared; a bottle of spiced wine and fresh fruits sat on the table. The hearth had a roaring fire, illuminating the room in a warm glow. The bed had red flower petals sprinkled across the sheets. And, to Alyssa's mortification, a statuette of Dibella sat on her dresser. Laughing with Balimund, she draped her wedding cloak over the goddess of lust.

Balimund pulled the blushing Breton to him, kissing her softly, going slow so as not to frighten her. He knew Svana had talked to Alyssa about what to expect; he had asked her to. The tavern girl had been thorough on what to expect. Still, the Hero of Skyrim and defeater of Alduin was nervous, her body a little tense.

He lifted her chin so she was looking at him. "I promise to be gentle. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"I know." She smiled broadly, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling his lips to hers. This time his hands didn't hesitate or stop short. It felt wonderful. She was eager to match his ministrations. Caressing beneath his shirt, she delighted in the feel of his broad chest. The smith murmured his approval into her lips, pressing her closer to him.

Before long they were both panting, hands grasping and tugging at clothing that soon littered the floor. Balimund gently laid his bride on the bed, careful to lie on her. Gods, she was so beautiful. Her face flushed and eyes heavy with lust, she pulled him to her. He kissed her nose, eyelids, and cheeks. The smith leaned close to her ear. "I love you, Little Dragon."

True to his word, the Forge Master had been gentle and loving as he claimed his new bride for the first time. It had hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the sheer ecstasy she felt being completely united with her husband. Their passions took over long into the night, reaching that blissful peak again and again.

* * *

Balimund laid awake, cradling his lover in his arms as she slept, her head on his chest. He watched her body rise and fall slowly, her face soft and content. He smiled down at her. Gods, what had he done to deserve such a blessing? His wife. She was his wife. He played with a strand of her hair, still damp with sweat. The smith tried to picture their lives together. She was an amazing wife already, and would no doubt make a wonderful mother. He smiled, imagining Alyssa with a round belly. His chest swelled with pride at the idea of his child in her womb.

'It may have happened already.' He thought wryly. 'Gods know it wouldn't be for lack of trying.'

He was a little worried. Would he be a good father? His old man had been a strong provider, but his ability to nurture had been non-existent. He often wondered what his mother had seen in him. The sword smith was far from a romantic, but it didn't seem to bother her. Balimund sighed, holding Alyssa closer when she murmured in her sleep.

He smiled. No, he had nothing to fear. He had already surpassed his father in giving affection. Balimund couldn't see himself as being less than completely devoted to Alyssa. He would be just as committed to their children.

'I just hope I can keep up with them.' He wasn't a young man anymore. He thanked the gods that he had been gifted with a wife who valued him despite his age. The smith leaned forward and kissed the Breton's forehead, eliciting a happy sigh and smile from her. Settling in, Balimund closed his eyes to join his new bride in her dreams.

* * *

I want to thank everyone who took the time to read my story. To the readers who enjoy a happy ending, this is where the story ends. For others who wish to continue on, no matter the cost, I encourage you to do so by reading the sequel, 'How Fragile the Forging'. Destiny has a funny way of repeating itself. Though the road contains trials and heartache, it almost always leads to redemption.


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